Letting go of control

By Miriam, mother of the Flur family

Yesterday, we left our house.

The cats and chickens are still there, staying with our friends who’s moving in.
We left a note with some instructions and routines.
I kissed the cats goodbye, whispered things they’ll never understand, and walked out.

Today, our dog Akira moved into the sweet family who’ll care for her while we’re gone.
She was her usual cheerful self, tail wagging, completely fine.
But of course I had to cry the whole way home. Home, by the way, is now at Bjarnes parents appartment in Oslo.

Tomorrow, we say goodbye to the car.
I’ve never really loved that car, but even that feels painful now.

And even though I know this trip is something we’ve wanted for a long time—ten months together in Asia—right now, it just feels stupid.

A bit ridiculous—like maybe in two weeks I’ll laugh at this post and call myself a drama queen.
But right now this feels unreal to me.

My stomach is tight and I keep wondering; Are we ready?

Because how do you walk away from animals who trust you?
From a home you built?
From a rhythm you finally figured out?
Drag the kids out of their comfort zone, friendships and school.

How do you leave all that behind because you want to?

Because yes, this trip is something we’ve dreamed about for years—ten months together in Asia, unschooling, working remotely, growing as a family.
But today, it feels like we ripped something sacred out of the ground and just hoped it would replant itself somewhere else. Yap..

I want to know if the cats will feel at home with new people.
I want to know if the chickens will be let out in the mornings.
I want to know if our dog will be loved and safe.
I want to know if the house will be treated with care.

But I don’t get to know that.
Not fully. I have to trust that it’s all taken care of. That it will be fine.

So now I’m trying to surrender.
To breathe into trust.
To believe that most people really do want to do their best.
And that the life we’ve built is strong enough to hold itself without us for a while.

Maybe in less than a week, we’ll be sitting on a bench in Beijing, scratching our heads.
Tired, overwhelmed, but happy. .
And maybe this will all be a far away memory.

So I’m reminding my self:
We are not leaving because something was wrong. Thats for sure.
This is us leaving because something beautiful is calling.
And by saying yes to that means saying goodbye to everything we’ve called home. For now.