Our neighbours across the street from us have had a moving van in front of their home for several days, but they're not moving out ... exactly. Instead, they're temporarily relocating themselves and all their belongings, so that they can tear their house down and rebuild a brand-spanking new one on the lot.
I am wildly jealous.
To be clear: I'm not envious of the fact that they will soon be living in a brand-spanking new house in our sweet little neighbourhood (although, Sweet Baby Gumby, walk-in closets would be a dream). I'm jealous because they're about to experience some serious New.
I am, my friends, a New Junkie.
This could be the result of being the daughter of a career oil-industry expat, but I've always been this way: if life gets too stagnant, it is time to shake things up. In fact, even as a kid, even if we weren't in the throes of our biennial international moves, every two months or so I would rearrange my bedroom -- shoving furniture from one wall to another, taking down posters and hanging up new ones -- just to wake up in a room that was different the following morning. When I was working in corporate America, I could handle doing a particular role for about 18 months, before I started nosing around the company for a lateral move or promotion that would change my day-to-day scenery into something more exciting. More unfamiliar. More New.
Lately, I've been aching for some New. Even though I'm certainly faced with novel experiences in my work every day, I'm yearning for something ... I don't know, BIG. Something original. At the very least, something that forces me to use parts of my brain that I fear might just be getting dusty.
I'm not sure how I'm going to make this happen. In the past, moving house or moving jobs would do the trick, and neither of those options are anywhere on the horizon.
Perhaps I just need to rearrange my office.