Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Moving - Part 1 - April 22, 2013

Moving anywhere is always a challenge.  Moving to another state is even more challenging.  Luckily for us, my husband's new employer is paying for movers to help us.  Of course, you have to keep an eye on them.  Otherwise things don't get packed that should or things that shouldn't be packed (like trash or recycling) will be.  There's also the issue of not knowing what is packed where.  Sure they label the boxes "kitchen" but in which of those two dozen boxes is the tea maker or the spices?

I have been sleeping on an air mattress since Thursday.  My bed should arrive today.  It will be nice to sleep in my own bed if I can find it amongst the boxes piled near ceiling height.  I know it will take a while to sort through and place everything.  Even after our massive three day yardsale before the move, we realized once we got here that there are still some things we'll have to let go of.  I still have records/files from twenty-five years ago when we were first married.  So I need to sort through all of those files and shred them to make more room.  My books (a bibliopile is a mover's nightmare) and my craft materials will still be a problem.  There is so much of both!  I am hoping for more time and energy for crafting (after placing everything into a more house-shaped form) but I seriously still need to let more things go.  I don't want to be a prisoner to objects.

Which leads me to my latest concern.  Since the week before last my husband has been calling me a "hoarder".  I don't like the label.  It makes one think of people living with trash piled to the ceiling with only a small path to walk and a dead cat misplaced somewhere in the mix.  While I'm not to that level, I do realize that I sometimes hang on to things because "I might need it later".  I'm not sure where this comes from.  I know when I was growing up I felt like I didn't fit in because I didn't have the same things as everyone else (homemade clothes  in the last 1970's/early 1980's was NOT as acceptable as you might think) but  that really doesn't seem to be the root of the problem.

I think the problem may stem from my step-father.  He lived through the Great Depression as a child and was a veteran of WWII.  He and his siblings had to literally scrape together enough for the eleven of them and their mother to eat during the depression.  EVERYONE had to do their part and NOTHING went to waste.  Even bits of twine were tied together to be reused.  It was this mentality that most likely got him started with collecting scrap metal to take to the metal recycling yards (junkyards) in Nashville.

Though this mentality of leaving nothing to waste is useful, it can lead to issues, like mine, of not wating to let go of things.  I did let go of a number of things at the yard sale.  Like the music box that I've had for at least twenty years with the intent to fix it.  I never got around to it.  Or  the old cardboard framed print of ballerinas I bought as a child at a Five and dime in Fairview, Tennessee.  I was no longer displaying it.  I kept it why?  Because I had once wanted to be as graceful as a ballerina instead of the unbalanced clutz I've finally learned to accept?  All it reminded me of now is that we could never afford lessons like my peers for ballet or piano or Girl Scouts or anything else as a child.  There was only time for work so that we could make more money for the family.

It will hurt to let go of somethings.  Unfinished projects and unread books make me feel like a failure somehow.  But letting go of them will be freeing as I will have more time and energy and mental focus for new projects that are more appropriate for where I am now in my life.  Frankly, I really just need to accept my physical limitations.  I can only do so much.  There is only so much time in the day.  As my new life here in Indiana takes shape, I hope that it will be healthier both physically and emotionally as well as more creative and productive.  Wish me luck!

The ballerina print I bought at the Five and Dime in the late 1970's.  Just as the yardsale closed it started to rain. I took this photo and thought it looked as beautiful as it did when I feel in love with it as a small child.  The rain gave it a look of having tear stains.  The universe crying with happiness that I finally learned to let go of that which is no longer moving me forward?