limbo & the perfection of minor details

Ronni over at Times Goes By--one of the blogs I frequent most, despite the fact that she writes for and about the elderly--is moving from New York to Maine after 37 years, 1 month, and 29 days. Like us recent college grads, she's on her way to a new chapter of her life. But there's a strange space in-between the old chapter and the new, and it's a time that

does feel like a period of limbo; being poised on the edge of a dramatic change in, fully aware of its approach and having the time, between dimensions, to take a deep breath and live neither life for a few days before stepping into the unknown.

That's exactly how I feel right now. It's the deep breath before the plunge; the quiet before the storm. I'm taking this month in Tokyo to prepare myself as much as I can for the onset of something completely new and different.

It's exciting, but I'm getting a bit antsy too. I want to know where I'm living. Where my first engagement will be. Whether I'll love my job. Those are the bigger questions, and then there are the smaller ones that have been occupying my time lately, because there's really nothing to be done about the others. What sort of dishes do I want in my kitchen? What about furniture? Clothing for work? Where can I learn how to drive? Do I really need a TV? Is it inappropriate to wear patterned stockings (black or natural) to work? And most importantly, will I be able to afford it all?

I once opened a fortune cookie which told me, "Great things are accomplished only by the perfection of minor details." I'm not sure if this move to Seattle qualifies as a "great thing" but it certainly is a momentous change. And since I can't do much about the big questions, I better listen to the fortune cookie and start with the devilish details for now, before stepping into the unknown.