Like clockwork, I have moved every two years for the past eight. At this point I should really be a pro at packing up and moving on to the next. But no, moving continues to be the headache it has always been. Oh and I quit smoking last week… now that’s just poor planning.
What I appreciate about moving so frequently is that it forces me to limit my possessions. As you could imagine, if something has stuck with me through four moves, my hectic college years, and early twenties, it means a lot to me. The problem is, I have too many things that mean a lot to me.
As it turns out, I have trouble getting rid of things that I have either outgrown or have absolutely no use for due to emotional attachment. No, I don’t keep ticket stubs or clips of my ex-boyfriend’s hair or anything disturbing like that. But, if you have given me a mushy card at any point in my lifetime, I probably still have it. And all of these wonderful tokens are stowed away and forgotten, until it is time to pack up and move them. So until I see a therapist for what I am beginning to truly believe is a hoarding condition, I have to share some of the finds that have turned up this week. Each of the following items have somehow earned entry onto the moving van for yet another journey across town.
Bought when six, sixteen year old best friends vacationed in Disney, right at the age where we were too young to use fake IDs, yet old enough to know that the lightshow parade would be even more stunning with a proper cocktail in hand. It could be possible that we might have been kindly escorted out of Pleasure Island during that trip.
To the untrained eye, this is just your average tee shirt. But to me, this shirt symbolizes the joys of making bad decisions on the boardwalk without a care in the world. Getting your palm read by some gypsy dressed woman who couldn’t snag a gig at the gift shop, setting off bootleg fireworks on the beach, spending $100 to finally win that gigantic Pepé Le Pew stuffed animal that you never wanted or needed until you couldn’t get that damn rigged balloon to pop, and riding the bungee-contraption thingy that you pray to God had been checked for safety at least once that season.
Looks like it’s about time to invest in some tee shirt frames, because these bad boys aren’t going anywhere.
On a slightly sappier note, the day I moved into my college dorm, my parents each handed me an envelope to open after they left. They had written words of love, encouragement, and support that helped guide me through college when they weren’t around. I somehow haven’t lost those letters and rediscovering them while packing got me all chocked up and misty eyed-which means they get to stick around through this move.
My best friends also gave me some things to cherish when I left for college, like my very own build-a-bear. That’s right, I love that thing. They built the “bear” to look like my childhood pup, Ellie. It was very thoughtful of them. She certainly did not deserve to sit in a box in the garage for the past two years. Isn’t she lovely?
At one point in college, I was a pretty serious mascot for a pretty serious flag football team by the name of Pk’s Finest. Of course I still have my jersey and I have worn it each and every Super Bowl since. Okay, no, not really, but now that I’ve found it, I think I may have to start a new tradition.
The mixtapes, books, recipes, photos, and cards I have gone through this week, all drum up tons of memories. But my favorite part of moving is starting a fresh, new chapter with even better moments and experiences.