Sifting and Sorting
Figuring what you need to take when you move is not an easy task. You just have no idea, really, who you’ll be in that new place; trying to understand that while you’re still squarely sitting in your old life might just be an exercise in frustration.
Moving isn’t just a chance to downsize. It’s a chance to shed skin, like a snake does when it’s time to grow.
As I write this, we’re a few hours away from not owning a house in Charlottesville anymore. For over 20 years we’ve called Holkham Drive home. In Central Virginia, opportunities to open up the house are rare; it’s usually either too hot or too cold. Life in Vermont, though, is far closer to life on the boat. Live with open windows that you scramble to close when it rains; put on an extra layer if it’s chilly in the mornings.
The main living space here is more compact than we had in Virginia. Smaller closets, fewer cabinets. What’s precious and worth taking that space? Decisions we made when packing up 750 miles south of here? It’s not only okay to reevaluate them but I’d argue it’s required.
We’re a few months away from moving onto the boat; I’m conscious of that upcoming life change with every box we go through at the OPO. Especially kitchen stuff, the quantity of which makes me a little ill. Though we were just up here a few weeks ago (actually, we went under contract for the house in Charlottesville while watching loons dive for food), and I’d cooked in this kitchen, I still packed up all my goodies from Virginia.
Hello, Nica, when there are already a dozen wine glasses up here why did you bring a dozen more? Selective amnesia? How did you THINK you cooked in a kitchen where people, PEOPLE YOU KNOW, have cooked for more than 50 years? And what on earth are you going to do with all those napkins???
What I need to remember (and practice) is that moving, like life, is a constant process of iteration. Give yourself permission to adapt and change and embrace who you are.
Just don’t forget to shed that old skin when you’re done with it.