Several months ago, we were told that my office was potentially moving to Bedford Massachusetts from its current location in Portsmouth. I am used to hearing this; in my 17 years here, this suggestion comes up every five or so years, only to be shot down. This time the threat seemed more imminent. Relocations and structural changes have been occurring throughout my organization in vast amounts and I knew better than to not take this scenario seriously.

I know that on my salary I can't possibly afford to live in Massachusetts, and I figured if I sold my house and found something here in Portsmouth or Kittery, I could just commute as I've been doing from Sanford. I am not so naive as to think that the commutes are comparable. I have pretty smooth sailing between Sanford and Portsmouth and back every day, and long though it may be, I'm rarely if ever stuck in traffic. Commuting from Portsmouth to Boston and back every day has been reported as brutal and not recommended for any but the hardiest of individuals, say, those who climb K-2 on their holiday. It's a commute I was not looking forward to making, but my hands seemed tied. I would just have to toughen up.

Sure enough, we were told just a couple of weeks ago that the move is definite, and our office will be relocated by January 2009. I put in for another federal position here in the local area, interviewed for it, and was told a couple of weeks later that I had not been selected. Time to move to plan B - sell my house. In a panic I put my house on craigslist, at a rock-bottom fee, hoping to have it sold and a new home in place before that fateful date.

I knew I had no other alternative, other than to go looking on the civilian market for a job. If I were childless, this would be a no brainer -- I would be free to pursue any pipe dreams I have ever had - music, animal sciences, home based business, doggie daycare... But I am not childless and carefree, and having over 20 years in with the same company kind of leaves me - at the very least - hesitant to leave my time and benefits behind. Sure, I want to be a rock star, but at 39 years old, I'll have to be a rock star after I retire from the real world and my kid is out of school, and I've got 15 more years until I can do that.

I've been in a bit of a frenzy, trying to paste up the house as well as I can. I'm spinning around in circles, doing 1/4 of a room, tiling a floor but not finishing it, moving piles of crap I need to sort out from room to room. The problem is, I felt wrong. The whole thing felt wrong. I've been waffling about selling my house for about a year now, and although I felt determined to sell the house and make this location change work, it didn't ring true.

Enter, a small miracle, a small bit of karma that I'm still trying to figure out - a job offer. A week ago, I get a call from the organization with the job that I'd applied and been turned down for. They were now offering me a job, and it's right here in Kittery. I can start in February 2008.

I felt a wave of relief wash over me at first, but as the giddiness at not having to commute to Boston, at not having to sell my house wore off, a feeling of wariness was creeping in. A new job. A different employer. A different stack of duties. A big, big change. I have been with the same company for nearly 20 years and with the same office for 17. I'm not too embarrassed to admit that I'm scared out of my freaking mind!

It will be a big adjustment but you know what? It's something that I really believe I need. Even if my office announced that the relocation was off, I feel that I would have to move on anyway. It's time. There are so many changes that I have been wanting to make in my stagnant life and I just can't seem to get started on any of it. I want to pursue serious writing; I want to become involved in music again; I want to be more physically active; I want to start on my big list of things to do before I die.

This new job feels like a catalyst for something even bigger - for breaking out of my safe little chrysalis and transforming for perhaps one final time in my life. It's time to move on from my 20 year safe little habit of a job, it's time to sell this house which has become more of my life than I really meant it to be, it's time to start living my life rather than just getting through it.

I was in my basement last night, staring at my old octopus-style converted coal burner as I folded my laundry and found myself choking up with emotion over it. Do I really want to sell this house? After all, now that I'm not relocating with my employer, I really don't have to. I can hold on to it, preventing as much change as possible. Everything about this house meant so much to me at the time - my first house, my first bid at adulthood. I loved this house from the minute I saw it. This house was the first goal I set for myself as an adult and I mercilessly pursued it until I got it. I won. I've put so much into it, physically and emotionally, until it has eclipsed any other goal I might have set for myself.

But now, it's time. I won, and now I need to move on to another goal, another victory. The house no longer means what it once did for me. It has gone from a sweet triumph to a burden, as much as it hurts to admit it. I want to have time to explore activities other than caulking and painting and tiling.

I am also a little sad to say that this will be my final blog entry in Bullyland. It was fun while it lasted and the blog has served its purpose - proving to myself that I'm capable of holding an audience with my written words. I'd like to move on to a more fruitful writing career.

It's time to go for it, to shake off the moss and start rolling.

Veni, vidi, vici. And so, onward ho.

Congrats not only on the housing/job situation, but on the decision to take the bull by the horns, so to speak... *grin*

Can't wait until your first book signing. : )

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