Staring at the pile of boxes which began towering over my small stature at least two weeks ago had me thinking. It seems daunting at first, emotionally overwhelming even. You don’t know where to start. For months, maybe even years you’ve invested your time, your money, your heart, soul, and self into this one life. Into carving your own path and relationship with your house, with your home, and with your protector. They guard your belongings, your most personal items and secrets, are your own private space, your castle, your fortress, your sense of home. It’s not perfect, no, but then again no place is. Maybe there’s a crack in the window, a few spots on the walls, but you don’t mind. It gives it character. It’s unique. Maybe it’s even what you liked about it in the first place. And you’re there to give it the tender, loving care you know it deserves, to patch those places.
But after a while, like most places, your lease comes to an end, maybe sooner or later than you wished, depending on the house, and you begin to pack up each and every bit of yourself. Your entire being, confined to beige boxes, stacked orderly on top of one another, waiting patiently to go to a new, loving place. Some things you’ve out grown and no longer need, you can toss those away. No need to worry yourself with last year’s problems; give them to the Goodwill. Others are marked fragile— those are the important things. A glass heart beats, surrounded by rib bones and wrapped in newspaper, snugly waiting to move on. That’s the box you protect the most.
If only you could simply pick them all up at once, snap your fingers, and boom, have them neatly land in your nice, new, clean and happy apartment. But that’s not how life works. Life is way too messy. It’s a labor of love and necessity. It’s hard. You might trip, you might drop some things, you might even have to hang that painting twelve times before it feels right, and then you might move it a week later. But slowly, one by one heavy, cumbersome box at a time, you move all of yourself into new spaces. Into new adventures, people, and places. It gets easier as you go, and your labor of love for yourself is suddenly less labor, more love. Before you know it, you’re fully moved in, decorated, and happy again. “What old house?” you might ask yourself. You have a new building, new shelves, new cabinets, and maybe even some new furniture to now protect your most cherished parts of your life and being. And before you know it, your life isn’t in a shambles any more. You’re no longer overwhelmed. You’re happy and settled. You just have to take it one box at a time, relying on other sources to help you, protect you, carry you. All it takes is a little time, and a trust that you will find a home soon enough.