We're moving soon.
If you’ve moved cities, countries, jobs – have you ever wondered why everything feels so much more beautiful right before you have to say goodbye? It’s called the countdown effect and it’s been hitting me hard lately.
The cats have never been more annoying. Truly. They sit by the front door at 9pm meowing for food and beg for cuddles and head scratches constantly. But now? Now I’m tearing up thinking about leaving them behind.
It’s not just the cats. Suddenly, the light in the hallway feels sacred. I get teary driving past the berry farm every morning on the way to preschool. I’m hugging people longer. Lingering in conversations. Crying over things I never thought I had time to care about.
And here’s the wild part: I’m socialising more than I have in years. Playdates, coffee catch-ups, spontaneous invites. Why do I suddenly feel like I have 100 friends AND I somehow have the time and energy to actually make plans to hang out – and follow through?
Even my job—which I’ve sometimes found overwhelming—is suddenly shining. I look at the kids and feel proud. I think of my coworkers and feel grateful. I walk through the school and feel this odd tenderness, like I want to gather it all up and take it with me.
This isn’t a new feeling for me. Years ago, I casually dated someone just before an overseas move. I didn’t even like him that much. But the moment I left, I was hit with this pang like maybe I was missing out on something big. I wasn’t – I knew that. But it didn’t stop the feeling.
The Countdown Effect and Other Phenomenons
Turns out, there are actual names for this kind of weird, sentimental magic:
- The Countdown Effect: When there’s a deadline, everything becomes sharper. I become more present. The little moments hit harder.
- Graduation Goggles: Suddenly, even the annoying stuff feels nostalgic. Everything is tinted in this soft, golden light.
- Temporal Landmarks: Big changes make me reflective. I look around and start asking: What did this chapter mean? Who was I here?
- The Endowment Effect: My brain starts clinging to what I’m about to lose, suddenly seeing value in things I barely noticed before.
Grieving While Growing
What I didn’t expect was to feel so sad and so sure at the same time. I’m exhausted, yes. But also weirdly full. I’m grieving and grateful. Tender and ready.
For months I’ve been all to-do lists and practicality. I barely looked up. But now? Now that I’m actually leaving, the feelings are crashing over me. My nervous system waited until I had the capacity to feel.
This is the heartbreak-before-launch. The sacred, chaotic in-between.
And it doesn’t mean I’m making a mistake. It means I really lived here. I built something worth missing. I became a version of myself I want to carry forward.
I can be ready to leave and still ache for everything I’m leaving behind. I can know this next chapter is right and still wish for one more slow morning in this house, one more run into a familiar face at the shops.
Both can be true.
Maybe the grass was green all along. Maybe I just finally slowed down enough to notice it.
