- “Let’s go to lunch next week instead of this week.” I say to my friend. “Or we could go the week after that if it’s better.”
- Why don’t we invite our visiting teaching sisters for lunch next month? This month is so busy.”
- “Oh, I’ll read that book later,” I tell myself. “I can always renew it.”
- “I’ll do a major pantry clean out next month,” I tell myself.
- “We’ll go to the temple next Saturday.”
- “I’ll take my Sunday School class members treats next week.”
- “We can always see New Zealand on the next family vacation. Let’s just take a short trip this time.”
- “No, we’ll go see Tasmania next month. Let’s stay home this weekend.”
And then we get a call: We want you to come to a new assignment in three weeks. In New Jersey. Nothing for certain yet, but will you plan for it?
Obviously, three weeks is impossible for an international move. But all of a sudden, the next weeks are limited; the next months are gone.
Last June, we entered Australia on a three-year visa. The project’s paperwork said through “September 2008,” but we hoped for two full years. I figured I’d have a walking and talking little boy. I figured we’d have visited all of Victoria and parts of Tasmania and New Zealand and maybe Sydney and the Gold Coast and maybe Ayers Rock. I figured our savings account would have grown (although those two dreams don’t really follow, a girl can dream!). I figured the housing market wasn’t going to tank and that the dollar would be worth a little more when we transferred our money back. I figured I had more time before I had to move my home across the globe again. I figured I could enjoy being cozy in our new home.
Of course, I am excited to be near family again, within a four-hour flight of both sets of my baby’s grandparents and all of my baby’s aunts and uncles. I’m excited to be able to get more variety in terms of consumer goods. I’m excited that things will cost less (relatively). I’m excited to choose a new car for myself. I’m excited to re-enter summer. I’m excited I might be able to go to my friend’s wedding in August. I’m excited that my family might actually call me when my phone number isn’t international. I’m excited that I don’t have to wonder how long we’ll be here (things have been a question mark for a few months).
But now I realize I have to start all over again: the third home and the third ward and the third search for friends in two years of marriage.
I’m realizing now that I shouldn’t have procrastinated being a friend. I shouldn’t have procrastinated making home cozy for my family. The end can, and does, come at any time.
What are you procrastinating? What “end” do you dread (and/or hope for at the same time)?
