There’s something oddly satisfying about packing all of your worldly possessions into cardboard boxes, and loading them into the back of a car. It almost feels as though by condensing the number of items that I physically own, and confining them to a small, enclosed space, the rest of my life becomes - by extension - less cluttered.
I also really enjoy feeling as though my life is mobile, so I guess there’s that too.
I like packing things, and I like moving. I like leaning my guitar against a new dresser, walking barefoot on foreign grounds, resting my back against a different wall as my eyes burn through pages I’ve read a dozen times before. The juxtaposition of familiar and unfamiliar things just really, really appeals to me, I think.
If it wasn’t for my unfortunate book-buying (and keeping) habit, I’d be completely suited to a minimalist lifestyle.
The sentimentalist in me, however, disagrees.
I think I’d like to be unsentimental. Unsentimental, but not unfeeling. Attaching memories to paper and print rather than objects is helping with that a lot.
And now I’m going to pack to a combination of Disney music and The Beatles, so I’ll see you on the other side.