Life is in a Box

It’s an odd feeling when you pack your life into a few boxes, some bags, and an overstuffed car. You wonder, “Is this all I am?” You wonder as you sift through old school papers and doodles when you were 7, “How do I still have this?” I definitely don’t hoard, as the five full garbage bags in the trash bin can tell you. I’m more “hoarder light.” I can throw things away, but sometimes I collect things. I’ve done this since I was a kid. I collected cards, toys, rocks, knives…things escalated when I started getting an allowance, haha.

Nostalgia looms over my dimly lit room.

There have been books written on the idea about, “What’s in our backpack of life.” But as I swept through my room, taking things off the shelves, throwing things into the garbage, keeping some, discarding others, I couldn’t help but think that the only things I wanted to pack were the things that got into tickle fights with me on the couch. The things that wanted to play more house or pirates on the high seas. The things that chased me around the family room and hugged me goodbye once I left. These things I couldn’t take with me. The things that stayed up late talking about life over wine. The things that gave me wise advice when I needed it most. The things that laughed just as hard as I do when something makes me laugh. These things I can’t take with me. The things that have been there since I was a baby. The things that know me better than I know myself. The things that I love most. These are the things that I can’t take with me…but will always have with me.

Bittersweet taste on my tongue.

My car is packed. Like…SO packed. There is NO room left. Tomorrow morning, I head out on my journey to my new life. My sister is coming so that I don’t fall asleep on the road. Also, she’s like the greatest road trip buddy ever, so no brainer. I am excited for the unexpected and bracing for that mountain air.

Sweet, sharp breaths into my lungs.

Time to go.


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