Ok, I tried. Really I did. I very much wanted to avoid blogging about the inevitable metaphors and ironies of moving. You know the tired cliches: “A chance at a clean slate.” “Dust off your ambitions.” “Oh my god – where did that [insert old, sentimental item you’d forgotten you owned here] come from?”
But it’s just too interesting. Especially now, as I find myself in the strange situation of having nearly all of my worldly possessions (minus my clothes, bathroom products and 1 each of the following: plate, bowl, glass and toaster) in a location where I’m not sleeping. Even my bedframes have moved; they wait patiently at the new house while I sleep on my box spring and mattress, held hostage by my single pair of hands and lack of truck.
Strangely, I am enjoying coming back to an empty apartment – no TV, no computer, no microwave. The blank walls are soothing, lulling me into the sense that I could exist like this, with nothing more than my Kindle and I Phone to keep me in books and music.
Yet I still get that little thrill of walking into the new house, although it’s diminished slightly by the sight of all my old stuff waiting patiently to be disbursed. How incredible it would be if I could truly throw everything out and start fresh? Alas, that kind of luxury is for the % of folks that I am definitely not a part of.
But the new house is where the internet is. It’s where the memories I’ve stored boxes will keep taking up space. It’s where my favorite books reside, currently in a messy heap on the floor, but just waiting for me to obsessively organize them (by genre, then author this time, I think).
It’s where I’ve moved myself for at least the next 12 months. There’s a lot riding on it, not the least of which is my need for new projects to keep me energized. I will miss the pond and the walking trails. I won’t miss having neighbors below me. I’ll miss having a “mountain” behind me to hike upon. I won’t miss not having a garage.
I haven’t figured out what’s behind the trees on my property yet. I want it to be a stream that I can walk along, among big, old-growth trees. But it might not be, so I keep putting off the exploration, saving a little bit of surprise and/or disappointment for later.
Regardless, I fully admit that I’m weird; I love moving. It’s a new chapter. Bring it on.