Once upon a time, I was trapped in the move-every-year lifestyle of a renter. The longest I spent in one place in my adult life was two years in my glorified studio in Moscow, and even then I had to move out for the summer. Otherwise, it was lease-to-lease, a life in constant motion.
TJ and I have lived in our home -- our home that we bought and painted and filled and filled every inch of with Stuff -- for two years and three months. Hardly record-setting, but in that time we've had a baby and taken in a truckload of Stuff from TJ's former life that had been sitting in storage for years. We've expanded a bit.
My favorite thing about moving is The Purge. (Quips TJ, "I've seen 'The Purge' -- this ain't it.") No, we may not be lawlessly roaming the streets killing at will, but I am slaying the clutter monsters with all my might. I've wondered at what we've packed from house to house. (in our five years of marriage, TJ and I have lived in five homes in two states. Ugh). I've wondered at some of what appeared in those storage totes -- why anyone had bothered saving it for all this time. But value is in the eye of beholder.
The best of The Purge and moving is being forced to handle every object in your home at least twice -- once to put it into the box, and then to take it out again in your new digs. To do this at New Year's is especially cleansing.
Especially this time. This isn't just A Move. This is The Move. A career change. A major life alteration. One of those rare moments you always want to Start Over. To be Someone Else. To change those things about you that you've never liked, but people knew you too well to allow for you to be different.
With every item I've packed, I've wondered, "Is this who I still am? Does this represent who I want to be in Moscow?"
(More practically: Is this worth packing, lugging and unpacking? Or keeping in storage until we can buy another house? So often the answer is, "nope.")
So far, I have purged clothes I bought but never wore. Kitchen gadgets that had good intentions but no purpose. Even a few (very few) books. We've ditched bleached-out towels and extra sets of curtains. Baby items Clark has outgrown. Momentos from trips that aren't a part of our lives anymore.
Who will I be in Moscow? Literally leaner -- at least in possessions? Still the kind of person who needs three sets of flannel sheets (this is Idaho, after all), but doesn't need to lug over 20 pairs of shoes that don't fit.
More importantly, who will I become? Finally able to break down the walls that all-male newsromos have built around me; shake a reputation as bitchy, bossy, controlling. Embrace kindness and be known for collaboration. Be strong but not threatening. Determined. Deliberate.
Who I'm supposed to be.
With, at least, three trunkload's less baggage.
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