It has been almost exactly one year. One year since I was sitting on my living room floor amongst piles of clothes for every season and an assortment of travel books, cramming my one lonely suitcase to its capacity before embarking on my trip to New Zealand.
Fitting everything I thought I would need for five months into one bag was no easy feat. In fact, several techniques were involved in the grueling process. First, there was of course the most mechanical approach: sitting on the suitcase while my mom tried her hardest to zip it shut. However, when the zipper only made it around one corner of the beastly bag, we resorted to plan B: vacuum sealed plastic bags that I have to thank for allowing me space for those two extra pairs of jeans and my favorite hoodie that I so happily wore almost every day I was gone like it was going out of style. Perhaps as a token of my appreciation that it was able to fit.
As hard as I found packing for that chapter in my life, here I am one year later, having an even harder time packing for the next chapter. This is because in a couple short months, my family and I will be moving out of the place I’ve called home for all 22 years of my life; a scary and brave move of its own kind. Not knowing exactly where I’ll be living yet, I’m going to approach this obstacle life’s thrown my way similarly to the way I approached New Zealand. That is to say that despite their somewhat opposite circumstances, I am going to remain optimistic as always, open-minded as can be, and preferably, free of many belongings.
Today I took a good, hard look around my bedroom with just one thought, “Where do I start?” Was I supposed to start by going through various pictures of my youth, so naturally tied to countless memories? Or would it have been easier to start by sorting through old knickknacks and keepsakes, each holding more sentimental value than the last. I stood in the middle of my brick-red walled peaceful little haven, troubled and anxious, overwhelmed and confused. I took a moment to collect myself and once I did, I applied the advice my mother so effortlessly offered to me this time last year as I attempted to pack for my trip. “Take what you need and leave the rest.”
Sounds simple, doesn’t it? That’s because it is. We humans follow this command dangerously easily in countless other situations so why should this occasion be any different? This leads me to my new founded rule of thumb: if you ever go a few days without it, it must not be that important after all. And so with this new approach, combined with my regained strength, I began to tackle the “stuff” that relentlessly occupies my room. An excellent segue into my second motto I chose to live by today: “it’s just stuff” (please excuse all of these highly technical terms).
I was on what some would call a 'roll' as I plowed through drawer after drawer of clothes and other assorted goodies including little decorative boxes so small that only girls like me know what to put in them. With each item I would systematically ask myself over and over, "do you need this?" I put everything to the test, distinguishing whether or not it contributed to my everyday happiness or rather simply meant something to me years ago and now was as useless as a broken compass.
This concept is one I grapple with- the thought that things can be of the utmost importance to you during one period of your life, yet borderline meaningless during another. The same notion applies and translates itself to people, brutal as it sounds. I know this because I have been a witness to its effect. The difference between people and things, however, is that it’s easier to confuse the people that we need in our lives when we’re blinded by the juxtaposing question, “do they need me?” Things, on the other hand, are more cut and dry.
Take what you need and leave the rest. Then don’t look back. That’s what I’ll be doing; this blog is proof in itself. After an eight month hiatus, I took the encouragement I needed from a friend I recently bumped into at the library to keep writing and made the conscious decision to leave behind any fear that comes along with exposing such personal thoughts to a public audience. Further, it’s what I’ll be doing as I continue over the hurdle of packing up my room before heading back to school for the semester.
As I pack in accordance with this philosophy, I’m confident I’ll find that although I can sit on suitcases until I’m blue in the face, trying to squeeze in every last knick and knack of my life up till now, sometimes it’s best to just let it all go. Start fresh. Because after all, isn’t it about where you’re going, not where you came from? And if that’s truly the case, how on earth would I have ever gotten to New Zealand or anywhere else for that matter with nothing but stuff?
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