Moving, I tell you.
Quite unexpectedly, and without much warning, we are leaving the lives that we've built here for the last five years and heading west.
We will be tearing our children from their schools.
We will be leaving jobs we've loved.
We will be saying goodbye to our friends (who have become family).
The prospect is horrifying.
And beyond that horror is only a slightly less horrifying process (but only slightly). The process I'm talking about is the fact that we will have to pack up every stupid thing we own and drag it across the landscape several hundred miles.
Thinking about it makes me want to own less.
No, strike that--thinking about moving makes me wish that the zombie apocalypse had already begun so my only concern was how much ammo I had.
But I digress...
Moving makes me want to own less. Mostly because whatever I own has usually ended up owning me.
Like this house.
"Whipped!" it whispers to me in the middle of the night, as I lie awake, dreaming of empty drawers.
So Saturday, I got rid of half of my worldly possessions.
It felt amazing.
It felt like letting go.
I feel like I've turned a corner, like I can utter the words, "I'm moving" without bursting into tears.
And I also had some fun at the moving sale.
Here are a few of the signs I put up on various items:
It was a good way to let go.
P.S. If you know me in "real" life, please don't call me tomorrow asking me when or why we are moving. All I'm at liberty to tell you is that it involves a secret plot with a catapult, Area 51, cattle mutilations, Mitt Romney and Super PACs. If I told you anymore, I'd have to kill you.
"Breathe. Let go. And remind yourself that this very moment is the only one you have for sure."
How do you "let go"?