So, here's what I'm picturing: a hot air balloon, fire burning, filling with air trying to take off. But the sand bags are still on. Then one by one, the sand bags are cut away - boy, dog, hair (I don't know why hair is a sand bag, it just is), apartment, new apartment (that's a new one.)
I'm packing all my things, and trying very hard not to just write "Send to Goodwill" on all the boxes. Although I did keep my well-worn copy of Jane Eyre out of the boxes, just in case that happens. I'm having such a desire to get rid of so many of my things to just go live in a little house in the woods or by the beach with just my clothes (I am a professional, I need my clothes) and a few dishes, and my yoga mat and my knitting and my coffee maker.
Or perhaps become a vagabond.
Or just trust that the perfect place will be found in the perfect time. And since I believe in the "when you pray, move your feet" theory of manifesting things, I'm looking and reaching and emailing and driving to see things, in addition to visualizing myself living in the perfect space.