My mind is all over the place. Sort of like my stuff right now.
Packing up one's life is never fun. At least not for me. It doesn't matter that I've done it often. Way too many times. I think I live a fairly simplistic life. Compared them whom, though, right? When I pack to move, I'm always astounded by some of the things I have. Things that I move from place to place. As much as I don't mind starting over (buying new silverware, again, new plates, again, outfitting an entire kitchen from scratch, again), having old stuff, for me, has more value than just the price.
It's about having a history, a story. There's this little ceramic tumbler that dates back from college days, given to me by a dear friend. My kicker espresso maker. My favorite cheese cutter. Pieces of jewelry that have memories attached. Little things that make transitions a bit more palpable since it doesn't feel entirely like I'm moving into a stranger's house. Again. Then there are bigger pieces. Framed photos. My giraffe painting. My favorite carpet. A quilt friends made for me. Things that are simply me. Mine.
Believe me, I've gotten rid of a lot of stuff. Again. In the end, it's pretty amazing that right now, my life fits in just 4 pieces of luggage and 8 boxes. Maybe 9.
Simplicity, right? Except, in two weeks' time, I'll inevitably have to start buying again... Toiletries I'm not lugging around the world. Some of the bigger stuff can wait till I move into my own place again. Wherever that may be.
But when I start over, again, there will be evidence of a life once lived on a different continent, at a different time in my life.