Simplification. Moving. Preparing.
I've tried to keep my sense of humor about this whole moving process: worldly possessions peddled on Craig’s List or packed away into storage bins, living with bare essentials in our apartment that looks naked without pictures on walls and knick-knacks on shelves. But my stone face is purely superficial. Bubbling below is a sea of emotion that comes out in spurts. I haven't intentionally tried to stuff feelings, just trying to focus on the present and tasks at hand. Keeping busy, though, keeps me from feeling too much. I went for a long run yesterday for the same effect—mental numbness. I find myself drawn to mindless tasks like sorting or running. Escaping? Maybe. Or just tackling big change in baby steps.
After going through our schedules in July, Patrick and I realized that really we had two good weeks at the beginning of the August to get things done, and then we'd be gone/busy so sporadically that there wouldn't be time to pack and move at the end of the month. So projects started very hard and fast. I started innocently enough... going through clothes... keeping anything that didn't make me sweat or feel suffocated (doing this in the heat of the day really helped me prioritize what to take to Haiti). But clothes-sorting morphed into going through bedding and linens... which evolved into emptying and sorting the entire storage closet and guest room closet so I had a place to store all my organized boxes/bags earmarked "Yard Sale" or "Storage" or "To Haiti." By this time my psychosis had taken over, and I got on Craig's list and started raffling off our worldly possessions.
I've tried to keep my sense of humor about this whole moving process: worldly possessions peddled on Craig’s List or packed away into storage bins, living with bare essentials in our apartment that looks naked without pictures on walls and knick-knacks on shelves. But my stone face is purely superficial. Bubbling below is a sea of emotion that comes out in spurts. I haven't intentionally tried to stuff feelings, just trying to focus on the present and tasks at hand. Keeping busy, though, keeps me from feeling too much. I went for a long run yesterday for the same effect—mental numbness. I find myself drawn to mindless tasks like sorting or running. Escaping? Maybe. Or just tackling big change in baby steps.
After going through our schedules in July, Patrick and I realized that really we had two good weeks at the beginning of the August to get things done, and then we'd be gone/busy so sporadically that there wouldn't be time to pack and move at the end of the month. So projects started very hard and fast. I started innocently enough... going through clothes... keeping anything that didn't make me sweat or feel suffocated (doing this in the heat of the day really helped me prioritize what to take to Haiti). But clothes-sorting morphed into going through bedding and linens... which evolved into emptying and sorting the entire storage closet and guest room closet so I had a place to store all my organized boxes/bags earmarked "Yard Sale" or "Storage" or "To Haiti." By this time my psychosis had taken over, and I got on Craig's list and started raffling off our worldly possessions.
Items of furniture keep vanishing. Patrick shakes his head every evening when getting home from work at the new something he can no longer sit on. Books are out of bookshelves, the dining room table looks like a mountain of knick-knacks. I keep trying to slow myself down, trying to be as mindful about this whole process as I can, but the apartment feels like one big unfinished task. I am looking forward to the time when all is packed, and we take on a camping, gypsy existence. Right now, however, I'm in task-master mode.
On one level it feels good to purge, to recognize all the excess and be free from it for a bit. I've enjoyed going through things, remembering who and where items came from, the stories behind little treasures, the memories tied to the material. As much as I joke about this purging process, I'm acutely aware of what I'm letting go of. And it is hard.
I keep looking around and trying to bargain what I can take, what I should store (what I'll really be looking forward to having when I come back) and what is really unnecessary and can be sold or given away. I look around my little apartment with everything in its place, and it is home. It is filled with pictures of adventures, of friends and family, of ornaments that remind us of our spirituality or our aesthetic. And all this stuff creates my soothing, relaxing environment. Letting go of it all forces me to seek peace from within instead of being wrapped in it. And, well, I mentioned above just how peaceful my insides are. It’s hard. It’s emotional. If I let myself think about it too long, I get weepy. So instead I focus on my psychotic packing tendencies, and the feeling of being "liberated" from stuff, even though it’s harder than I let on.
I'm also aware that I'm moving to a place with empty rooms and blank walls. The optimist in me says its a fresh start, a blank page. The realist in me keeps me acutely aware that I'll be moving to a place where the stuff I'm whining so loudly about giving up is often an unheard of luxury amongst the populous. The sentimental part of me says I'll be missing the tokens of years lived and memories made. So I find myself putting more things than I expected in the "storage" box... not quite ready to give up the coffee cup from the Grand Canyon or the blanket from Mexico. Maybe stuff is like that pair of pants you keep in the closet KNOWING that someday you will stick to the diet and exercise regimen that will certainly suck you down to a size 4, allowing you to strut your stuff in such a stylish miniature pair of jeans again. It's hope. And sometimes you grow out of wanting to wear the size 4 because you've come to love your body for its curves. And THEN you can give the jeans away to some tiny person with no pants. Maybe, in time, I'll realize that the memories aren't going anywhere, that they are a part of who I am, the pictures I store, and that I don't need STUFF to hold tight to those memories. But today, I'm not quite there yet.
I went for a hike Friday with Anne and Sadie-dog that helped cool my recent insanity. The wildflowers were at peak bloom, and the mountain was dotted with color. The air was cool and clean, rejuvenating and calming. Mountain waterfalls and streams were full and rushing; the air itself was ripe for walking meditation. Sadie was in heaven, romping here and there, chasing Picas (the little tiny mountain mouse-like rodents that live on rocks at high altitude). I swear Sadie was showing off for Anne (her future mommie), because she came every time I called, she was perfect to every stranger and every stranger’s dog, she stayed close to us, and sat with us every time we needed to take a rest stop or sit for a snack. I fell in love with my dog all over again. How on earth am I going to leave her??? She looks at me while I sort and pack, head between paws, brown eyes staring out, wondering/hoping that any minute I'll put on my tennis shoes and she'll know immediately that we are going to do something fun. :)
So the fun moments I have to work on, because the time here is short. Ultimately the work and tasks will get done. What I stand to regret is not soaking up these moments with my furry family, the cool crisp air of the mountains, the freedom to walk anywhere in the city, the invigoration of a long run, the luxury of getting together with friends at a moment's notice, the simple ease of life lived here. Because a big change is on the horizon. Ready or not.
On one level it feels good to purge, to recognize all the excess and be free from it for a bit. I've enjoyed going through things, remembering who and where items came from, the stories behind little treasures, the memories tied to the material. As much as I joke about this purging process, I'm acutely aware of what I'm letting go of. And it is hard.
I keep looking around and trying to bargain what I can take, what I should store (what I'll really be looking forward to having when I come back) and what is really unnecessary and can be sold or given away. I look around my little apartment with everything in its place, and it is home. It is filled with pictures of adventures, of friends and family, of ornaments that remind us of our spirituality or our aesthetic. And all this stuff creates my soothing, relaxing environment. Letting go of it all forces me to seek peace from within instead of being wrapped in it. And, well, I mentioned above just how peaceful my insides are. It’s hard. It’s emotional. If I let myself think about it too long, I get weepy. So instead I focus on my psychotic packing tendencies, and the feeling of being "liberated" from stuff, even though it’s harder than I let on.
I'm also aware that I'm moving to a place with empty rooms and blank walls. The optimist in me says its a fresh start, a blank page. The realist in me keeps me acutely aware that I'll be moving to a place where the stuff I'm whining so loudly about giving up is often an unheard of luxury amongst the populous. The sentimental part of me says I'll be missing the tokens of years lived and memories made. So I find myself putting more things than I expected in the "storage" box... not quite ready to give up the coffee cup from the Grand Canyon or the blanket from Mexico. Maybe stuff is like that pair of pants you keep in the closet KNOWING that someday you will stick to the diet and exercise regimen that will certainly suck you down to a size 4, allowing you to strut your stuff in such a stylish miniature pair of jeans again. It's hope. And sometimes you grow out of wanting to wear the size 4 because you've come to love your body for its curves. And THEN you can give the jeans away to some tiny person with no pants. Maybe, in time, I'll realize that the memories aren't going anywhere, that they are a part of who I am, the pictures I store, and that I don't need STUFF to hold tight to those memories. But today, I'm not quite there yet.
I went for a hike Friday with Anne and Sadie-dog that helped cool my recent insanity. The wildflowers were at peak bloom, and the mountain was dotted with color. The air was cool and clean, rejuvenating and calming. Mountain waterfalls and streams were full and rushing; the air itself was ripe for walking meditation. Sadie was in heaven, romping here and there, chasing Picas (the little tiny mountain mouse-like rodents that live on rocks at high altitude). I swear Sadie was showing off for Anne (her future mommie), because she came every time I called, she was perfect to every stranger and every stranger’s dog, she stayed close to us, and sat with us every time we needed to take a rest stop or sit for a snack. I fell in love with my dog all over again. How on earth am I going to leave her??? She looks at me while I sort and pack, head between paws, brown eyes staring out, wondering/hoping that any minute I'll put on my tennis shoes and she'll know immediately that we are going to do something fun. :)
So the fun moments I have to work on, because the time here is short. Ultimately the work and tasks will get done. What I stand to regret is not soaking up these moments with my furry family, the cool crisp air of the mountains, the freedom to walk anywhere in the city, the invigoration of a long run, the luxury of getting together with friends at a moment's notice, the simple ease of life lived here. Because a big change is on the horizon. Ready or not.
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