The act of packing makes me sad. Wading through my possessions and picking out the things that I can’t live without for three months and the things that are, by some definition, pointless reminds me of all the other times I have packed up my life recently. Each time I leave something (someone) behind, and each time it gets a little sadder. The sadness seeps under my skin as I fold clothes, and stuff shoes with socks, and throw away trash.
Tonight is a mini-sadness, because it’s mini-packing. This is my third packing session this summer: previously I packed to move out of my room in July and again to move out of San Francisco in August. In each iteration I have fewer possibilities, so packing is faster and feels less monumental. The paring down process was aided by the people who stole my car last week, along with half of my wardrobe. Thanks, guys (or gals)!* This is also one in a long line of exits. I am backing up my computer. I am checking to see if my phone is charged. I am unmaking the bed I just made up.
I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to become a transitory figure this summer, since my favorite thing in life is to be settled down. We are arbitrary beings: we set ourselves up to do the things we fear the most.
I promise this blog will talk about politics and campaign work eventually. I am working my way up to it.
*In case you didn’t notice, that was sarcastic.
The best thing about it, for me, is that you’re blogging again, and I get to read it.
Doing it because you fear it, IMO, isn’t a good enough reason. Doing s.t. although you fear it, to get to something want, makes sense to me.
I’m already missing you.