I Hate Moving
I hate moving. I mean the opportunity of living in a new, potentially better place is great, but the process is awful.
Let me clarify. I'm not leaving town, but I am moving into a new home. I'm moving into a place that will not hold all of my stuff. I can't take it with me, and through this process I've learned that I'm somewhat of a hoarder.
It's a little scary to admit it, but I can't seem to let go of crazy items like my Show Biz Pizza Dolls. I have zero need or use for these objects, but my emotional attachment to them is real.
I've discovered journals from when I was 12 years old detailing the countdowns on the radio among other books that contain my published poems?!? Apparently I was a poet in seventh grade.
I have been digging through boxes in my attic that I haven't looked through in years, and coming across boxes of t-shirts from high school power lifting meets. I still have the shirt pictured below and the one I was wearing in the photo above the door...
Yes, I was a power lifter my senior year in high school. I instilled fear into my yearbook staff writers by posting photos of me dead lifting hundreds of, er almost 200, pounds around the walls threatening them to meet their deadlines.
I also discovered that I have ALL of my annuals. I have one from 1989 through 2005 when I graduated Kilgore College. It's a sickness, but I just can't help that everything seems to have meaning. I'm working to cull away things that have less meaning, but it feels like I'm losing little pieces of my personal history.
I let go of all of my softball trophies and math/science meet trophies from middle and high school in a recent garage sale. Someone suggested that I take photos of all of them, but really why do I need them? Where does one store trophies -- aside from the trophy case that I don't have -- and don't truly need?
It's a process, but I'm learning to let go. Maybe I should I just put Princess Elsa on repeat as a reminder.