I’m afraid of change. And clearly not afraid to admit it. And yes, I blame it on my parents. After all, they still live in the same house they’ve lived in before I was born. That means I grew up never experiencing a move, until college. And while I blame it on my parents, I don’t blame it on them. After all, any time a potential move was even discussed, I threw my silverware on the floor, pushed my dinner table chair aside, and stormed up to my bedroom, tears flowing like crazy. You should have seen me when they decided to remodel the kitchen. Normally, I’d be all for a larger kitchen, but destroy the space I grew up watching my parents cook in? God, no! So, yeah, moving was not an option in my world.
I still joke I want to buy the house from them some day. Only it’s not really a joke. I would. For sure. And it’s possible I’d never remodel a thing. Ugh, I have issues.
Which is probably why ever since I moved to Boston 5 long years ago, I haven’t moved once. It’s a rare thing to live in one apartment for so long in your 20s. But I guess I just have an “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” philosophy. I love my apartment, the location, the space, the fact I can throw my trash outside my front door and it gets mysteriously carried away in the middle of the night, the fact that I’m never cold in the winter, and more. So why am I going to pack everything in boxes, hire movers, and transplant myself to another apartment? Sounds pretty miserable.
Only now I’m moving. Literally across the street. But still, it’s moving. And I’m currently in the very middle of packing my 5 years worth of stuff. Yesterday I was packing up my bedroom when Rachael Yamagata’s “Over and Over” came on my iTunes. And as I stood there surveying my room with my hands on my hips, I felt like I was in a scene from The Hills. And like I had just had enough with my life and had to get away from it all (and yes, go to Europe in general or something).
Except that’s not it at all. It’s kind of the opposite. Everything is going so wonderfully in my life, so beautifully, and so (dare I jinx it) perfectly. And that’s what I have to keep telling myself. This is a new beginning; the next step in life. I’m moving into a nicer apartment (with a kitchen with more counter space) with someone I love with my entire being. It’s going to be an amazing experience and is so exactly right.
And let’s be real. Can I live in an old apartment with a random roommate for the rest of my life? No, probably not. But still. So many memories are held in that apartment. So many nights with friends dancing to Shakira. So many cupcakes. So many tears and lessons learned. Some things I thought I’d want to forget, but find myself clinging to because they’re the things that made me. And so many things I just never want to fade.
I threw away about 15 pairs of shoes yesterday. It was tough. I almost dug them out of the trash bag after throwing them in. But I resisted. I resisted the urge to stop when I packed 7 huge bags of clothing for Good Will. And I resisted the urge to stop when I threw away various items I’ve just had my whole life. I didn’t need them; I just had them.
Life is about change. It’s about moving on. And taking the next steps that you know will make your life even fuller than it already is. And all those places you spent so much time making memories in? They’ll always be there in your heart. They’ll never fully disappear. That’s what life is all about.
And for now… I posted this pic on Twitter while I was in the depths of packing yesterday:
And someone asked me if the robbers took much. Sigh. Maybe that’s why I’m not generally open to moving.