The Magic in the Messy Middle

Somewhere between the dreaming and the doing, there’s a stage nobody talks about. It’s not Pinterest-pretty and it's not tied up in a sparkly lavendar scented bow.

To be honest, it smells faintly of cardboard, forgotten lunch, and maybe a little stress sweat. This, my friends, is the Messy Middle.

Keeping the dream in sight!

We’re three weeks away from completing on our French house — The One That Found Us — and let me tell you, the butterflies have now been joined by bubble wrap, bickering, and a very suspicious dog named Adele who refuses to go for a walk unless we both go with her. (The little lady has trust issues. Honestly? With her background who could blame her.)

We’re packing. We’re sorting. We’re tripping over boxes labelled “Essential-ish” and trying to remember which life admin forms we’ve already filled in….. and which are still lurking in the inbox like passive-aggressive ghosts.

And don’t even get me started on trying to translate French house insurance documents at 10:30pm.

This isn’t the dreamy part.

This isn’t the part people write poems about (although you know I’m going to).

This is the awkward, anxious, nearly-there bit. And weirdly….. it might just be where the magic lives.

The Reality: Not Exactly Glamorous!

The vision was always clear:

Morning sun slipping through the shutters.

A writing desk that smells of stories.

A garden brimming with fig trees and possibility.

But this week?

This week looks more like cardboard chaos with teetering towers of boxes, missing tape, and several conversations that begin with “Do you really need to keep that??"

We’re living in limbo — part here, part there, part nowhere at all.

French house insurance needs sorting. Customs declarations need double-checking (because apparently, bringing over your own saucepan is a whole situation now). Not to mention keeping detailed lists of the contects of every box; in French and English. There are still things in the house in France that need agreeing with the vendors, and the clock is ticking with all the urgency of a caffeinated goat on roller skates!

Meanwhile, Adele – our ever-watchful, ever-anxious rescue girl – is picking up on every wobble. She won’t go for walks unless both of us go with her, which, although very sweet - it's very impractical when you’re trying to sneak off to buy more packing tape and remember your own name.

And yes…..tempers are ever so slightly frayed.

We’re trying to pack up a life whilst also trying to remember that we still like each other. Most of the time. As long as nobody hides the Sharpie pens again.

The Truth: This Bit Matters Too

Here’s what I’ve realised:

Nobody writes about this bit because it’s not tidy.

It's not filtered or shiny.

It doesn’t sit well on an Instagram grid.

But this middle part — this awkward, funny, cardboard-covered, emotionally wobbly middle — is where the magic hides.

This is the part where courage brews in little sips.

Where dreams are still dreams, but also occasionally scream a little into a cushion.

And even here — with packing tape stuck in my hair, half-empty cupboards, and a cup of cold coffee that I’ve reheated three times — I’m learning something new about becoming.

The Poem Bit: Because Of Course!

The Middle Bit

We’re in the bit that’s not quite done

Where dreams feel heavy, not yet fun

The kettle’s packed, the dog’s unsure

The boxes block the hallway door

The tempers fray, the socks go missing

We trade deep sighs for awkward kissing

But through the mess, the crumbs, the dust

We still believe, we still adjust

So here’s to now, this halfway stew

The middle bit that gets us through!

So no, this isn’t the arrival.

This isn’t the sipping-Nosecco-under-the-vines part.

But it is part of the story — and I’m learning to love it, too (albeit reluctantly!)

Because if the dream is worth chasing, then the messy middle is worth honouring.

And if I forget that, remind me — preferably with biscuits and hot coffee.

Until then…..

Back to the boxes!