Impermanence is permanent. The irony!
As the time we have with someone, or being in a certain place becomes finite, is it natural for us to long for more of what we will soon be without? This is the sentiment that has dominated my way of being for the last couple of months since finding out our family of three would be moving from London. A place that for the last two years has been home.
One month before relocating- clinging on:
Twenty-twenty has been a year of unexpected hardship, sadness and adjustments across the globe. I am not unique in having felt this. It has been a time of worsening division yet also communities reconnecting. A time of darkness with beams of light. For me, the pandemic, along with being a new mum in a new city has been trying at worst but exhilarating at best.
I’ve become fascinated and shaped by the Buddhist principle of impermanence and the acceptance that nothing lasts forever. At first, this way of thinking sounded somewhat negative and forlorn, but as I tried to embrace this mindset more and more, I realised that there is beauty in this: it’s acceptance of the present. This impermanence is something I try to embrace tighter now, knowing we are relocating in the very near future.
It was not until about a year and a half into living ‘down south’ that the house felt like home. A roof and four walls it was. And a home it has become. A place we have made our own, filled with movement, and noise, and not to mention toys in my two-year old son’s play corner! And soon it will be empty, silenced and lifeless, sitting dormant as the house waits for the next military family to call it home.
The grass in the front and rear garden will grow unruly, the ivy will continue to engulf the bricks, and the large trees that line the street will create more shadows preventing light from the house’s windows; it will almost resemble an inhabitable building, with a post-apocalyptic-vibe. It is fair to say we were somewhat underwhelmed with the home before us when we moved here from Aberdeen, for my husband’s new posting.
We had not seen any photos of the house that would be home in London prior to moving in. Nor had we seen any floor plans. Our purchase of an ‘L’ shaped sofa was a risky one (I can confirm that it did indeed fit albeit having caused a few scuff marks on our walls when squeezing it into the room). The sofa was the only furniture we bought for our ‘new’ military home though, as we transported most of our belongings from our flat in Aberdeen, leaving just enough to ensure it could be deemed ‘furnished’ for tenants (and that of course included the sofa).
It’s part of the parcel that military houses tend to be a bit run down; or to put a positive spin on it, could do with some TLC. However with this being our first move as a married ‘military’ couple, we came into the move with somewhat hopeful expectations. We were definitely in the ‘newborn bubble’!
I could write a lot more about the condition of the house (the countless calls to the military approved contractor who dealt with all our issues- the carpets, the mould, the (lack of) shower, the slippy driveway… you get the picture) however upon leaving, the issues with the house and un-aesthetically pleasing finishes had become invisible. As the months have blurred into one, I no longer sit on our sofa thinking the wall colour is insipid, nor do I long for a proper shower, and I feel safe when in the house alone. Perhaps my noticing of what the house lacked is more a reflection of my longing for ‘home’ in Aberdeen.
At what exact point did Stanmore, London become home? Our first home with our son!
During our time down here, there have definitely been points at which personally I could have sunk, but I believe I have swam, taking my son, Sebi with me. Or perhaps he has been the one keeping me afloat.
My husband was away with work more than expected, and the lockdowns prevented the visits from family and friends, not to mention one week where I had torn my meniscus and carried an 18 month old around the house on one leg! I reflect on this not for sympathy, but with some pride and joy in what we have achieved as a family.
This home will soon be empty, but the leafy streets and nearby Canons Park are beginning to bustle with life. The sound of the birds in the mornings and the occasional fox can be heard clearer than before the lockdown. The air feels purer, as do the smiles from strangers, keen to connect after months indoors. The diversity in age, race and gender down here is something Stanmore should be proud of. And something I hope to have captured in images for my son to see when he is old enough to understand. His first home no more, but a home I will always remember!
One month after relocating- moving on with memories:
The red brick houses we knew have been replaced with sparkling granite streets, and the familiar blue skies are now more variable, but they are the same skies and sun, we just see them from a different viewpoint.
Nothing is permanent but there are constants. And these constants include my parents, sister and brother in law, grandparents, life long friends. I feel lucky to have these people close after being so far away for so long. We also have belongings that are the same which helps a toddler adjust and settle! There are fleeting moments of missing the Stanmore streets but these are coupled with acceptance that I’m now back where I did long to be upon moving two years ago. Furthermore, this current move may not last forever. Such is the rhythm of military life!
As I lie in the same bed, but in a different room, I close my eyes and walk the route to nursery in Stanmore with Sebi. A journey we did so often, that it became ritualistic. All of the details are clear- the houses, the trees, the roads to cross: the sounds and even some faces...
…when in London I used to imagine places in Aberdeen, longing to be back ‘home’. Which makes me deduce that home is not the house! But the people. And the people that create the memories. And the memories that elicit these feelings. These feelings of cherishing the moment gone, but safeguarding it as a memory for the future. With these memories intact, we can share them with our children through stories, and photos and spontaneous recollections.
Life may be fluid, but connections and memories can remain. Something that has been so important to us all over the last year or so.
For now, I am grateful and optimistic. Onto the next chapter.
I smile thinking about the hours upon hours spent in Canons Park, Stanmore; increasingly busy as lockdown eased- the diversity of life vibrant. We have our ‘new’ park here. And in stark contrast, when we have been there it has been quieter, but also vibrant in colour and bursting with love. Sebi can now walk holding his grandfather’s hand; a constant that for a wee boy, is irreplaceable. And for what I hope will be a long time, permanent.
Thank you to everyone who has imprinted these wonderful memories of living in London in my mind! Thank you for being such a big part of my little boy’s life so far. You know who you are!
