Moving is also fraught with innumerable possibilities for things to go wrong. The upside is it’s also survivable. As is brain surgery. I’m not sure that brain surgery isn’t FAR easier though.
I’ve moved several times. Most moves were prior to forging my own pathway through life. In other words, with my parents. I decided early on I didn’t like it. Especially changing schools and friends every few years. So I vowed that my child wouldn’t have that same experience, which I’m happy to report she remained in the same school system and with the same friends until graduation. That served my own purpose as well; I hate moving.
After my daughter left home my moves have been primarily from one side of a large city to the other side. This is of course bad enough, however you can allow yourself the option of not completely packing everything you own, but rather tossing it in your vehicle of choice and driving across town. More hassle than a complete disruption of life.
Moving across country, even a mere 75 miles, is entirely a different matter. Hire a mover and it becomes a tactical nightmare. Aside from the usual litany of required phone calls and change of address notifications, you must pack everything you own. Everything. All of those gizmos and do-dads on your work bench… packed. Clothes? Packed. Those extra cleaning supplies, food stores, toiletries, pens, videos, extension cords, jars of screws, mirrors and wall decor, bedding, rakes and shovels, potting soil… all packed. The entire contents of your kitchen from baking sheets to glassware to 120 spices you love experimenting with. All packed.
As the process slowly ebbs forward and the boxes begin to mount towards the ceiling, you begin to ask yourself “why do I have this much crap, and when did it happen?”. You eventually decide it’s time to get rid of some things. Some things hit the trash. Others are designated garage sale. Several garage sales and 55 gallon trash bags later, you can start to see progress. This is a good thing. But you’re still not done. Where did all this junk come from, and who needs it? You never quite realize how much “stuff” you have until you have to pack it all.
Until you’ve had to literally do this, you really haven’t moved. Shuffling things in your car across town isn’t moving any more than a squirrel gathering nuts is moving. No, you’re just repositioning. Moving is hard work. Physically, mentally, and emotionally.
Moving day arrives with the empty moving van backing up to your home. The movers are hard workers and jump right in. It’s almost shocking how quickly a good mover can empty your house into a truck. Once the home is empty we head over to a storage unit we have “a few” things in. We’d already sifted through our storage for things to sell or discard. Yet when it’s about half emptied and the mover tells you the truck is full, you know you’ve not sifted enough. We should have seriously addressed the excess of combining two households a few years back before now. And while unloading into your new home the lead mover comments you should have had a garage sale before moving, you know you’ve only scratched the surface of eliminating unnecessary baggage from your life.
Four days after the mover left, we finally have internet access again. We are seeing a garage sale in our very near future. No, garage sale is not quite the term for what we still need to get rid of. We have one SUV filled with broken down boxes for the recycle center, and we’ve only unpacked half of them at best. The process of settling in is going to be a long one. Friends and family say “it’s like Christmas opening all of those boxes”. I beg to differ. Christmas is usually enjoyable.
Moving, truly moving, is a painful and life changing experience. It forces you to re-evaluate everything you’ve cluttered your life with. I think in the end it’s going to be a very healthy and freeing thing. But for the moment, it’s pure drudgery.