After the movers left, I wandered from room to room, reading the boxes, the unfamiliar scrawls of strangers inventorying the stuff our lives. What had taken years to put together--a home--took hours to pack away. I found the poetry of the labels moving, somehow. And then the boxes were moved, put away into storage. My things will wait for their next home. So will I. It might be years before I see the beloved things again. So be it.

1 comment:

Linda said...

I moved out of my 2500 square foot home on to a small sailboat 8 years ago - an extreme downsizing. I am a sucker for the beautiful, for the nostalgic, for the meaningful object, so much was put in storage for unwrapping again - and reacquainting with - at a future date still to be determined. It was so freeing, to be unencumbered by "stuff", as long as I knew I have the opportunity to reclaim and redefine what I want later on. I have two photos of me then: one in a house of chaos during the packing looking frazzled in work clothes, surrounded by endless cardboard towers, tissue papers, tape, and markers. The second was in an empty house after the movers came - dressed in a black cocktail dress with a glass of wine in hand and a caption that read "No Box Left Behind".