On Moving, Packing, Purging

It really sucks to feel in limbo. It's not feeling at home in your own home, knowing that you have another home, miles away. Home normally makes me feel so relaxed and at ease, so comforted. But now, now that I know my home is no longer going to be my home, I feel restless and uneasy. There is always so much to do. Knowing that I don't yet live in my new home, I'm feeling in between.

My mom visited me over the weekend while S was in Chicago scoping out our new apartment and exploring the city with his brother. My mom brought boxes, tape, bubble wrap, everything you need to start packing. We packed some of the dining room, office, and living room like books and art on the walls. Thankfully we didn't pack too much away, or else I would feel like I was trapped in a box for the last few weeks of us living here. There are enough of our favorite items and favorite books still out to enjoy.

While S was in Chicago, he visited our new apartment and filmed a walk through for me. Being that we only saw cell phone photos of our new home, and that I can't see the apartment until we arrive with a truck packed with all of our belongings, it was so comforting to have S film walking through the entire space. I create event layouts at work and I design Sims 4 houses at home, so understanding a good floor plan is important to me. And finally, it feels as though it's coming together, one box at a time.

Isn't everyone purging these days? My friend joked that this book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, has recently broken the internet. Everyone is reading it and everyone is purging. Well, I was planning to purge before I even knew of the books existence. Once I knew that we were moving and since we moved into our current house one year ago, my plan was to donate anything that we have not touched in this last year. It's really easy actually. There are books stuffed into boxes, DVDs piled in trunks, video games unplayed, and trinkets collecting dust in corners. My philosophy was to get rid of anything that we have not used in the last twelve months since we've moved. My exceptions were for items that still brought me joy (very much like the philosophy from the book). 

One Christmas, in the beginning when S and I were still getting to know each other, when we were still in college, when our future was very bright and very unknown, I bought S a beautiful easel from his favorite art store. It folds up into a case that can be carried, and it's legs extend like spiders. It's face expands to hug the largest of canvasses. It's a lovely light wood with compartments for paint and a palette that fits inside. These days, it's been collecting dust, unused, closed up for the past year. There's paint marks on the edges, dirt in the hinges, the metal screws are discolored, it's worn and loved and absolutely gorgeous. Seeing it still brings me joy. The years of scratches and paints reminds me of all of our apartments that we've lived in together, all of the times S met me between classes at college, all of the times we changed jobs, and everything in between. So it stays, some other things go, making room for more things to love in the future, more memories to make in our new home.

Moving is stressful, purging is overwhelming, and packing is tedious, but there's no one else I'd rather do it all with.