I’m moving. Not in an internet sense – you’ll still find me on my personal website or Tumblr, whichever you’re already reading this on – but in a physical sense. I’m not even going that far, I can actually drive to my new digs in a relatively short time. I’ve actually been moving bits and pieces of my life into the new place over the past week, because I dislike trying to move everything in one day.
Moving is an experience that I look forward to in abstract. It gives you the chance to leave things behind. All the books, equipment, and knick-knacks you’ve acquired over many years, but are largely just taking up space in your home? You can get rid of those when you’re moving. I usually take the opportunity to divest myself of a lot of stuff. I’m not a sentimental guy, so I feel little issue with getting rid of things that have no use in my life.
Of course, opposites attract, so I live with someone that applies sentiment to a lot of her personal items. This means we’ve ended up hauling a lot from place to place. That’s something I’ve learned to live with and in aggregate we do okay because I’m cool with getting rid of things.
Moving also gives you the chance to metaphorically leave things behind, like parts of yourself that you wish you could change. Not exercising currently? Moving to a new place may give you the push to become a new person. Maybe you want to try your hand at gardening in your new place. Whatever your panacea, moving gives us a chance to reinvent ourselves in a new environment.
I love that moment when I’ve moved everything out of an old apartment, cleaned up the place, and am about to lock the door for the last time. Because your home is a part of your identity. It’s where you lived for a year or more. It’s where you laughed, cried, played games, went to sleep, got drunk, etc. There’s memories stacked upon memories, even for shitty apartments. I like that last moment, that final look. Closing the door, locking up, dropping off the key, and getting in the car to head to your new home. Your new life.
There’s something transformative about the idea of moving.
Unfortunately, the act of moving just completely sucks. You have to pack your life into boxes and bags. You have to sort through what you’re taking and what you’re throwing away. You’re always finding items under and behind furniture. Half of the shit you have gets hastily thrown in a box or bag, with the idea that it will be unpacked when you get to the new place. The problem with that is some of those items are miscellaneous crap. The stuff that sits on desks, tables, and counters. The things you don’t have to really think about until you move. I swear, 20% of the stuff I move from place-to-place is boxes and bags of assorted items from the last move.
Then there’s the physical act of moving. Putting all those boxes and bags into your car or U-Haul, getting them to the new place, taking them inside, and then unpacking them. Then you spend weeks into in boxtown, slowly moving stuff out as you need it. Or that moment when you reach the bottom of a box during unpacking, only to find stuff you should’ve thrown away instead of hauling it with you. That feeling of wasted effort and energy.
I love the idea of moving, but actually moving sucks.
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