I tend to think there are two types of people in
the world: those who attach emotional meanings to objects and those who don't.
But I think I’m most accurately placed in an obscure subset of that first
category. I attach meaning to stuff
that doesn't matter, and I get emotional at really weird times.
This makes packing difficult. When I graduated from
college, I mentally prepared myself for the moving/packing part, realizing that
this process is often symbolic of the end of a great era of life, and that
people like me often find it emotionally draining.
Except that it wasn’t. I was totally fine taking stuff off the walls, putting away
memories, saying goodbye to the house. Gift from my (deceased) grandmother?
Check. First picture The Boyfriend ever drew me? Got it, done.
Countless pictures of college memories? Throw dat crap in.
Pair of mismatched Puma ankle socks?
Tears.
Sobs. That kind of body-shaking crying that leaves pools of snot on your
upper lip and generates (reasonable) concern in your housemates.
"Ames,” my housemates might have said, “are
those...socks?"
“Yes.”
“Why are you crying?”
“These socks made me emotional.”
“The socks
made you emotional?”
“YES THEY DID AND IT’S NOT WEIRD.”
My housemates are good people.
So, as you might be able to imagine, condensing my
worldly possessions into three suitcases was a bit of a challenge. Not an impossible challenge, but one
that requires lots of planning. I
started pre-packing (it’s a thing) several weeks before I started packing, because
it takes me so long to figure out what is actually important and what only
seems important to me during a moment of emotion. I have to revise the
list many times.
And even after several revisions, I still discover
some blaring oversights. For
example, a few days before my trip you might have asked me, "Ames, did you
pack any coats?”
And I would reply that no, I didn’t, because there
wouldn't have been room next to my collection of bookmarks from elementary
school WHICH IS OBVIOUSLY MORE IMPORTANT.
There is probably a metaphor here about how I have
a hard time prioritizing my life, but I’m not going to go too much into
it. This is mostly because going
on about the Great Metaphorical Suitcase of Life sounds a) trite and b) like
something I would make fun of. (Except actually, it was good for me to ponder
my Great Metaphorical Suitcase of Life for a while, because I have the weirdest
stuff in there. I have this fear
that I’ll be unpacking it at the end of my life and be all, “Why is there so much Netflix?” and I
just feel like that’s a pretty good source of motivation.)
Suffice it to say that I checked in my (overweight)
luggage with two coats, an exercise ball, plenty of socks, and no
bookmarks. There were also some
other things, but they feel less important right now.
I'm off to the train now, which you'll probably hear all about in an upcoming post. Don't forget about donations, which are still a thing, and know that I think you're all pretty swell.
