Fourteen Moves, Eight Years

It’s not an exaggeration. I’m not sure what it is, the house, the people, the situation… maybe chalk it up to my indecisive nature. But in the last eight years I have moved 14 times, lived in 11 houses, in 4 cities, with 21 different roommates, all within about 80 miles of each other.

I have just completed move fourteen and at this point I am having a, “What the fuck?” moment. This move, I have assured myself has purpose. It seems obvious that I am searching for something. At 26 I am cluing in to the fact that I need to take a more active approach. The goal is to save up enough money, quit my job, get rid of my worldly possessions and embark on an open ended journey. My recent move has shown that getting rid of my worldly possessions is not going to be as easy as I thought.

When you look at what I bring to a home, it doesn’t seem like much. Other than a bed, I don’t have much in the way of furniture. I do have a small TV, video games I no longer have the time to play, and a record collection I recently started – poor timing I may add. But when you put them all into boxes, the things add up fast.

I tried my best to be diligent. I made four trips to Value Village. Looked at all my stuff and asked myself, have I worn this in the last year? Did I even know I still owned this? Will I ever use this again? Even though I was able to get rid of so much, there is still so much that I have.

We took the last box off the truck late Sunday night and stored it in my mom’s garage. There is not enough space in the house for all this stuff. There isn’t enough space in my life for everything, not if I truly want to leave default world behind. It is hard to let go. I carry my past through my stuff; my many triumphs and defeats, reminders of what I have accomplished and what I have overcome. A lifetime of memories associated with things that are just waiting to be stored or stashed somewhere else.

Things are not memories. Letting go is step one.

Waiting to move the last of my shit