On Moving

Rachel: So here’s the deal for tonite: Shorty’s is a t-shirt jeans and sneaks place. No hooker heals. We r staying @ jamies. I will call when I know what time but prob picking you up @ 8ish. If I get there & you look prissy you aren’t coming.


Me: My hooker heels and prissy clothes have yet to arrive.

I left California over a month ago and the moving truck is scheduled to arrive tomorrow. Granted when I moved out west I was separated from my stuff for 3 months. I will be glad to be reunited with my belongings as being surrounded by them allows me to truly settle into my parents pad. Tomorrow may be as exciting for me as Christmas is for Children. I get giddy thinking of opening each box and discovering the contents.

I look forward to replacing the taupe and white quilt with my plumb comforter, to filling the empty walk-in closet with my clothes, to retiring to my room to watch TV, and, mostly, to not feeling like a house guest. Please note it is not so much about the stuff as it is about creating an environment, a space, and a sanctuary.

When I fled OC, I gave away or sold anything I no longer needed or wanted. Pots and pans, glasses, kitchen utensils, bath towels—you name it. I invited neighbors to come loot my apartment as if the Lakers had just won the title. I sit here today certain that every item contained on the moving truck—all 2562 pounds—are objects I cherish yet if something were to happen to the cargo I would simply mourn the loss of the sentimental stuff and go shopping. I am not my belongings but my belongings are me.

The upside of moving across the country and back in less than two years and spending a grand total of four months with little more than the clothes you are wearing is the death of material attachment. A freedom that allows me to cruise around town in a 1999 Red Ford Escort.*

So I went to Shorty’s sans hooker heels** donning a white T-shirt I bought at Sam’s Club, Jeans and Sneakers.

What is your relationship to material items.

*I used to fancy myself a BMW, Mercedes or, at worst, VW type of girl.  Now I just care that it runs and gets good gas millage.

**I have so many that it might account for half of the cross-country cargo.  Even the moving men commented on how nice my collection was when he packed them up.