Wednesday, January 28, 2009

twenty-three years/twenty-four moves.



My things are all packed again, the boxes neatly lined up next to my bed in my room, waiting for another move, this time number twenty four. It has been awhile since my moves have surpassed my age, but it has finally happened again. I should like to move a little less now, but that is not in my hands.

When I move I examine all my things, turning them over and trashing or giving away what I cannot use. I did this over Christmas at my parents house, and now I am doing it here in Detroit, though I have learned simplicity and own far less stuff, so I have less to give away. Our new house is tiny and we will have to move through the house weekly and remove the clutter that builds up while living, so perhaps that experience will help. There is little storage, which will force us to be creative as well.

I am tired of moving, exhausted and overwhelmed by ownership, of carting my things from place to place like a restless, sleepless nomad.

So again I move, and again I will move, always, always. This is a great blessing, and a great burden.

I don't believe I will ever stay still.

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