Notes along the way.

Something feels off about putting an end to so many things at once. It’s a different kind of finality than we’re usually used to.

We closed and locked the door to our home for the final time on Sunday.

This week is the last time I’ll see customers, clients, friends, acquaintances, and family — for an undisclosed amount of time.

Usually, when something ends, it’s just one thing at a time. We finish a job, a relationship, a project. A meal, a coffee, a book, a movie. But they don’t all end at once.

In the span of three weeks, we’ve packed our entire lives into 22 plastic tubs, 2 tool bags, 1 hard case (for the Warhammers), 4 suitcases, 2 backpacks, a handbag, and a very stylish bumbag. It’s been strange to see the contents of our existence packed away like that. The things we once built our routines and lives around now don’t seem to mean all that much at all.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t, in my soul, terrified.

But also… I’m not?

There are few worse feelings than that pit-in-your-stomach moment when you realise you’ve made a bad choice — saying the wrong thing in an argument, making a mistake at work. But this doesn’t feel like a wrong choice. It feels like the right time.

It feels like the final 100 metres. Racing for the finish line.

In seven days, we move to Japan.