I’m officially weirded out about moving. Not to say this feeling presents itself in a bad way or any way really, but shit – this is something that is actually happening and not some grandiose idea that exists in a future anymore. It’s now. I’m currently straddling the line of being baffled and impressed that two years of life can fit into several boxes and nothing more. Perhaps it was something in the back of my mind that told me not to accumulate things, that I would be on to the next soon enough.
I’ve got clothes, books, a cat, and a box marked “This shit is fucking fragile.” That’s all of the decorative stuff I have never been able to bear parting with, including recent additions like a Heady Topper can which clearly – is an important item to be placed upon a shelf somewhere in the USA. I literally bubble wrapped this; a beer can, because it was that important to me. A motherfucking beer can make the cut, while 70% of my wardrobe did not.
“This shit is fucking fragile,” could have been the mantra for myself the last two years of my life. It’s just like – when you’re in a huge transitionary time in your existence, everything becomes a metaphor for your life. Take the other day for instance. I feel like my drive to work is so ironic because I only live five minutes away from the place but it almost always takes me twenty because people in West Hartford drive like assholes and I have a knack for hitting every stoplight on red. Like every stop light. Instead of being like “Well, that’s shit luck,” I go to: “Is the universe trying to tell me something?” “STOP” it says. “Well stop what?” What am I stopping? Why am I stopping? Am I stopping, dropping, and rolling? Then I think there’s also a Spice Girls song that urges you to “Stop right now, thank you very much, I need somebody with a human touch. Hey you, always on the run, gotta slow it down baby, gotta have some fun.” How I went from pondering life’s great questions to singing the Spice Girls is beyond me, but not at all surprising considering my lack of focus to the singular thought.
Today I went for a run that I practically dragged myself on. I have a particular route that I take, mostly for its familiarity, but there’s one part I despise that comes in the form of a hill. Every time I start to even feel the incline I want to just lay down and die. Forgive me for being dramatic, but I happen to be the kind of person who lives passionately – every day is either the best or worst day of my life and I am currently working on existing in the in-between. It seems like a healthier option. Anyways almost every day I grunt and moan my way up said hill, hating every second and feeling cursed. Then all of a sudden I get to the top and start my descent. Suddenly everything is beautiful and I smell the flowers, glide with ease, and think “Man, this is nice and life is pretty good.” It’s like all the piss and shit I endured five seconds prior dissipates and I’m on a completely different plane of existence.
I’m not sure if packing is any sort of metaphor for my life, but I am sure it is somehow. I’m putting all this stuff that supposedly represents the person I am and bringing it somewhere else. This is actually the perfect metaphor – a good friend of mine, which I see rarely but love immensely, spent the duration of our lunch shift together quizzing me on any and all specifics of my move. She asked me “Why are you going there?”
It’s a great question, and one I can answer only by saying that I am doing exactly what I need to do at this point in time for myself. I understand that moving is not this end all be all for the confusion and soul searching I’ve endured throughout my late 20’s, but I know it is a place I have found great happiness, and that an opportunity presented itself to me because it was the only option. As I pack myself into cardboard boxes I see the faces I will miss and adversely, those I know will fade into a blip on my timeline of existence. I leave with many memories, no regrets, and nothing but uninhibited anticipation for whatever the future holds.
I am not leaving to escape anything, nor do I expect life to be perfect because I changed where I exist. Wherever I go, I bring myself, and I am fully prepared to meet myself here, there, or anywhere for that matter. I bring a wealth of other experiences across the country – the good, the bad, and the different. However at this point in time, I feel an overwhelming sense of peace and happiness, a true readiness to face the next saga. And fuck, is that a nice feeling.