My family and I moved to a new home almost two weeks ago. That statement is a little over-simplified because the process of moving really takes a lot longer than the single day the truck is filled with your stuff.
In some ways we’re still moving, but telling ourselves we’ve settled (or at least are settling) into the house we plan for our kids to grow up in.
We’re thrilled to have bought a house in this economy, in our favourite town (Glastonbury). There was some fairly well-attended shindig in the area around the time we moved, but by and large it stayed out of our way.
The day of the move was itself stressful—as they tend to be. Everything took longer than planned; we got everything in only to realise we’d designated the wrong rooms and needed to move it all about, and just where the hell are my clean pants anyway.
And now I find myself settled in my office, with my computer on, speakers operational, second monitor shining it’s light upon me, and I’m struck by how reliable the net can be.
Sure, Facebook can’t make up its mind how it wants to dress itself, email servers can be a bit of an arse sometimes, and Amazon is still convenient, if not a bit ethically questionable.
But it’s all right there. The methods I use to interact with friends and family across the world, the means to put dinner on my families table—they haven’t changed.
My surrounds have, but I have this little window through which the world doesn’t look so different.
And while technology is mercifully always adapting, it can also function as as a dependable “room with a view” from any house, train, or airport lounge.
In turn I reflect on my own website. While I was packing boxes, only to unpack them the next day, and helping move heavy bits of furniture that I’m sure we paid someone else to carry about, my website was viewed by 200 different people.
I’ve carved out a piece of digital real estate, that even in my absence, when my mind is firmly elsewhere, still attracts people from all manner of places. It’s a good thing I’m happy with it.