The move is on and there is movement while I hold on tight and let go. The bed is the last piece of furniture to part with and I haven’t done it yet. It was made by my grandfather for my parents and was part of a entire bedroom suite and various pieces have been shed over the years. One of the wardrobes he famously jumped on top of to make sure it would last. I am actually not sure where that piece ended up. I have just the base now, where the two drawers housed Christmas presents when I was a child. Over the years I treated one of the drawers as a treasure trove for gifts and cards I would purchase with people in mind as their birthday or a special occasion arose I would find a perfect match for that friend or family member. The other drawer was full of papers like passports and insurance documents, wills and love letters. Both drawers at any one time would reveal plenty about the contracted relationships with the inner and outer worlds of my life. The drawers were never available to my husband, he never accessed them as far as I can remember in nearly 40 years. This is quite a revelation as I come to new understandings about the bed.
The meta-narrative of the bed legitimizing a marriage is now over in my generation. It is now deconstructed and I continue the deconstruction and reconstruction of myself.
Being one of the last pieces of furniture to leave me, I am learning about attachment and finding the possibilities liberation and release offer. I am still learning what it means to live unencumbered of such a primary relationship. Learning to live with less and trying to tread a little more lightly on the earth is a daily puzzle and brings interesting challenges. One of my biggest challenges is the realisation that decisions I make can actually only be for me. This continues to be novel and without the anchor of putting others at the centre I still find myself dithering and doubting.
I am learning about the interconnections of our big story as a planet and peoples, and our little stories of our personal lives. Audre Lorde’s view that self-care is an act of political warfare is finally making more and more sense to me, as Act 3 pivots around post modernism and deconstruction of this bed that I have been laying in for two-thirds of my life. I am learning, synaptic sparks can and will fly away and be replaced with new ones in this phase of reconstruction.