This time ten years ago we’d made the decision to sell up and move to Queensland. It doesn’t seem that long ago.

Grant was in the midst of a nasty divorce from the bully bank he used to work for, while I was working full-time and doing a three-hour commute each day.

We’ve been contemplating downsizing for as long as it had been obvious that Grant’s position was untenable. He was absolutely ready, but me? Not so much. It was the first time in our years together that he’d been further along the change curve than I was.

Part of my hesitation came from knowing we had at least six months of work ahead of us before we could list the house. At least. We’d been living there for eighteen years and plenty of clutter had accumulated during that time.

The layers in the rooms had somehow built up without me being aware of it. It’s the same with your body – the layers build up until it feels as though they’ve always been there. You’re underneath somewhere…but where?

That is, however, a whole other story.

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