We are taking what we can in six large suitcases, three carry-on suitcases and "personal" bags.
As an aside, I've seen women with "personal bags" that are larger than their carry-on suitcases, overflowing with who knows what, whacking unsuspecting flyers in the head as they totter past on their too-high-for-flying shoes. It gives me the willies.
... and while I can list off to you many reasons for being excited for this journey, at this point I am not sure any of those reasons would help.
The facts are: I love Hobart (and Tasmania) more than I can possibly explain; Dal and I both feel like this place fits us perfectly; The people we have met have become good friends fast; There aren't nearly enough negative things about Hobart and its people for me to be clambering to get on the plane.
Leaving all this makes me Sad. Sad is ok. I can do sad. I can handle it. But I am afraid. Afraid that the sad will turn into something more. And that I can't do.
Just over a year ago, I wrote about anti-depressants, miscarriages and other unhappy things. I have had depression before. When I was 19 I tried to check out of life for a while (Read: I took way too many anti-depressants with the intention of rendering myself unconscious). I like to think I am at least past that stage in my life. I have visited many psychologists, counsellors and psychiatrists who have given me a good number of coping skills. But the first half of last year saw me curled up on the floor paralysed by emotion too many times.
I guess I am afraid of a repeat. I know circumstances will be completely different, but still that voice of self doubt pops up every now and then telling me that I have a weakness. And conditions are ripe for my weakness to take over.
Even as I write this, though, I am reminded that there is also strength. Inner strength, spiritual strength, strength from my family and a strong husband (who is currently mumbling something about a "big fat Mario").
So here's to getting on that plane sad but not afraid.