Seasons and reasons

Every now and again I go through phases of feeling that some particular place somewhere - that there's something waiting for me there, at that particular time. It's intuition more than anything, because most of the time there aren't "real" reasons for going there.

In Svalbard, for example, I felt I needed to get myself to New Zealand. I didn't know why exactly, but I felt there was a big, important lesson for me to learn in New Zealand and though I had a feeling it might be a man and then, possibly, a child, I didn't really know and either way - I just needed to get there. I stood on the shore, listened to reggae music in my headphones and thought of New Zealand.

In New Zealand, too, I've travelled around like that. I've come to places, breathed in, and thought myself, "Is that a place I want to be at? How's it feel? Am I feeling... good here?" I've spent a week up north listening to myself like that.

These feelings don't stay static: for a while I might be feeling a pull of a place and then, gradually, it wears off. Sometimes it even wears off within days.

The way I see it, it's like that poem about some people being there for a reason, others for a season. Here, I've googled it for you.

People come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime. 
When you figure out which one it is, you will know what to do for each person. 

When someone is in your life for a REASON, 

it is usually to meet a need you have expressed. 
They have come to assist you through a difficulty; 
to provide you with guidance and support; 
to aid you physically, emotionally or spiritually. 
They may seem like a godsend, and they are. 
They are there for the reason you need them to be. 

Then, without any wrongdoing on your part or at an inconvenient time, 

this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end. 
Sometimes they die. Sometimes they walk away. 
Sometimes they act up and force you to take a stand. 
What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled; their work is done. 
The prayer you sent up has been answered and now it is time to move on. 

Some people come into your life for a SEASON, 

because your turn has come to share, grow or learn. 
They bring you an experience of peace or make you laugh. 
They may teach you something you have never done. 
They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy. 
Believe it. It is real. But only for a season. 

LIFETIME relationships teach you lifetime lessons; 

things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation. 
Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person, 
and put what you have learned to use in all other relationships and areas of your life. 
It is said that love is blind but friendship is clairvoyant. 

(I don't know who the author is, but if you tell me, I will gladly reference their name here.)

Like with that poem, I think pull of different places happens at a time when there's something drawing me to said places, and when I change, or those places change - which inevitably we all do - it goes away, that pull.

For a while I felt that for some reason, I needed to get to Tasmania. Being in Wanaka on a work permit, it wasn't a (comfortable) option, so I never did, and after a while I didn't feel the need to. It still intrigues me, but not in a way it used to.

Then for a short while it was Perth - The Man found it almost maddening. Why does a girl who loves cold want to go to a city in a desert?!

Now it's been Dunedin for a while. I want to study again, and once The Kid is bigger, I finally want to spend some time on The Ice which is one of the main reasons I wanted to be in New Zealand (apart from the general pull) to begin with - Christchurch being the place where 90% of Antarctic cargo moves from - and for that, Dunedin is the place.

And recently, I've started picturing this thing in my head where we live in a place with a garage, and The Man can drag all the beautiful, reclaimed wood he wants into that garage, and have that space where he can make things, and I can restore furniture, and he can teach me things. I haven't got much patience for woodwork, but The Man - boy does he have it.

He makes beautiful woodwork. Really - beautiful, beautiful woodwork. For the most part he does it on summer evenings when it's warm and dry enough that he can work outside, because we don't have a garage, never have.

The crawlspace under the house is packed with wood he drags home. The more beautiful, old rimu and totara stuff is under our bed, and behind The Kid's cot, and behind sofas. We've dragged it along as we've moved from place to place, and each time we've done that I've thought, really? We're moving this stuff again?? Why not just make something of it?

But he doesn't want to just make whatever with it: he wants us to have our own home where these beautiful, thick hardwood beams can become tabletops and countertops and bedframes and mantels.

Have I told you about the cot The Man built for our son? Have I shown you pictures of it? Ever?

The generosity of our neighbors who let him finish it in their garage, even after seeing the mess woodwork involves?

The random-sized bits and pieces and planks he's plained to make a collection of discarded wood...

...into a bed?

The way he made more railings than necessary so he could choose the ones with the most matching patterns, as being a pile of reclaimed wood, most of it has different grain and color?

I'm envisioning a home we live in, a small, warm place, and a workshop where The Man can work on wood to his heart's content.

And at the moment, I feel it is down the coast somewhere. Dunedin maybe?

That's where The Kid was born two and a half years ago - a place and people I hold dear to my heart.

Thank you, Dunedin, and the entire staff at NICU. It is very important work you're doing.

On the way home!

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