This Easter morning, I’d planned to be packing my suitcase for a journey to the Deep South, to see two of the only four states I haven’t yet seen. I was going to visit my friend Eileen in New Orleans, drive from Selma to Montgomery for a few days of reflection, and wind up on Mississippi’s Gulf Coast. Instead, I am packing boxes to move a week from tomorrow.

It’s been a difficult Lent. Right now, things are blessedly quiet because it is Sunday. But tomorrow morning, the crew on the light rail extension project will fire up a generator that will drone on 24/7 until next Friday evening, sometimes accompanied by beeping and scraping during the night-shift work and always with a low-level vibration that seeps into my home and my bones. This has been going on since January, but it’s only been in the past few weeks that I have realized what a toll it has been taking on me.

Worse, I haven’t been able to get a good answer on how much longer it will continue. Another month, perhaps, or maybe a year. The noise level increased last week, when another construction project started to the north. I’ve found myself unable to sleep well, unable to think straight with the constant clamor. Meanwhile, COVID cases are going in the wrong direction and I’m still weeks away from getting a vaccine. The truth hurts, and the truth is it probably is not a good idea to travel cross-country on a non-essential trip.

So in the last week, I made two decisions: I’d cancel my (fortunately refundable) trip plans and I’d use my vacation time to move. The good news is it’s a renter’s market here in Seattle and I was quickly able to find a new place. I’ll pick up the keys in a few days and I’ll have most of my stuff there a week from tomorrow. I’m reminded anew how it is beautiful to live a simple, streamlined life. (Of course, I talked this over with the property manager at my current place, who gave me her blessing.)

I’m a little sad at having to leave this little apartment I’ve had since February 2019. There was a lot to like about it. I chose this place with a gut feeling it would work well for me, which it did — until it didn’t.

I’ve written before about how it’s good to be able to pivot, and how there is rarely such thing as a final decision. I am heading back to the familiar neighborhood I first called home in Seattle, to another snug studio that would have been out of my price range before the pandemic. I look forward to staying more than two years, if the rent stays reasonable.

Who knows? Maybe this rolling stone will gather some moss. Hope springs eternal, and more will be revealed. Here’s to the spirit of Easter, of renewal, and of rolling away the big rock when it’s time to make a change.

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