I’m moving in January.
With this move, I believe,
I will officially become a person
who moves a lot.
Five moves in 20 years.
Is that a lot?
With each move,
I’ve bought further south
(nothing dramatic—still in the same
coffee/grocery/yoga zipcode)
and into smaller spaces.
One more move and I’ll disappear
along the Dan Ryan.
I like to move.
I like to use up a space and move on.
If there’s one thing I know about myself,
it’s that I know when I’m
Done. Done. Done.
And, it’s time to move.
Literally or metaphorically.
Doesn’t matter.
Part of the ritual of moving,
you may recall,
is “touching everything I own”.
I like nice things, but not a lot of them.
So, part of the moving ritual is
consciously, intentionally
accessing and inviting the things in my life
to stay in my life.
Or, politing. lovingly arranging
for their own moving on.
I have things—random cookware,
clothing accessories, office paperwork—
that don’t detract from my current space,
but don’t need to be part of my life moving forward.
The process lets me land in my new space
lighter, clearer and ready to begin again.
