The thought of leaving my current life to begin a completely new and utterly different one is daunting, to say the least. It’s also exhilarating; almost everything I own will not be going with me. I’m truly starting over. Everything I do, and everything I will own will be mine. I’ve compiled somewhat of a list of the things I will and will not be taking to help me sort things out.
My best friend who has been there for me every second I’ve needed her, and always just wants to be pet, I will be taking Brita. Her best dog friend who she plays with every day in the back yard, and who has looked out for Brita will not being going. The pictures, videos, and memories of the two of them playing with, annoying, and looking out for each other will be going.
The futon that is slightly over-folded on one side because my friend used it as a bed for a year will not be going; the memories of staying up almost through every night that year, talking and sorting out problems, ideas, and thoughts will be going.
The desk that I grew up with – the one I learned how to type on, and played my first video games on; the desk that still holds faint reminders of a younger me, through its stickers and drawings, will not be going. Learning how to spell my name at that desk, and learning how to use a computer for the first time, and making Valentine’s cards to my first crushes at that desk will be going with me.
The giant piles of blankets that have regularly kept me warm and comfortable will not be going. Like, really, who even needs that many blankets? You gotta choose wisely, and those blankets are just not going.
The records and record player I have will be going. They have been my only company before on my worst nights. They are there when they don’t have a choice. They speak to me when I need it most.
The loveseat I have been sleeping on for over a year will not be going. The memories of finding love there, of first holding someone’s hand while watching a movie, of spending all day making a fancy dinner to share with someone in that spot will be going. The holes that my friend and I put into the walls moving the loveseat from the street where we found it into the basement will be staying, though I will not be taking them with me.
Brita’s pee on said loveseat will not be going.
My TV is going only under extreme scrutiny. I mean, I need to fall asleep to something boring, like Shark Tank, and I’m guessing anyone who visits would appreciate something to do. But also, TV is dumb.
My books and bookshelf will be going. The texts that have kept me sane and also have taught me almost as much as actual life experience are going to be incredible tools I’ll have to turn to, and I’ll need all the help I can get.
The chair that an ex bought for me that looks like something out of Mad Men will be going. It’s the best chair I’ve ever owned, and the memories of receiving it as a gift, and the things I have created in it, and the memories of a life that I once lived in it will also be going.
The carpet is obviously not going, but the memory of having to physically block by mom from coming into my room using a shower curtain during an inappropriate time will be going. On second thought, maybe that memory won’t be going. Let’s take the memory of the Halloween when my friend threw up on the carpet from eating over ten KitKats instead.
The box of letters, small gifts, and memories from those who used to be close but are now living different lives with different people – as I soon will be – will be going. However, it will probably not be opened again, if I can help it. What is it about needing to keep good memories close by, but also finding them so difficult to actually face and look back on?
My clothes will be going with me; but the clothes that belong to a younger, much different version of me, will not be going, for they are not my clothes anymore, but they belong to a distant memory of a person who no longer exists.
All of my musical instruments will be going. The chords and notes they make when I enter a new chapter of life might change, though. Everything, even if it’s going with me, will be a different thing when it enters a new chapter of life.
My friends will not be going – this journey is just for me. But, my phone will be going. The messages, photos, and memories of my life until this point will be going with me. Those who love me now may continue to love me, talk to me, and reach out to me as I leave.
I will be going. I will be packing up my things and my dog, and leaving. My experiences, life lessons, personality, and thoughts I have come to live by will be going with me. My fears, uncertainty, inexperience, and lack of money will be going with me. But, if something is going with me, it must in a way be a part of me. All of these parts will converge together, messily, and without much planning. But eventually, they will settle together. They will find their place and volume, and in that way, they will all become new things. A thing really can only be described through the context in which it exists. If the entire context for all things – including myself – changes, then we all become new things. And in a way, that’s what life is; being a thing, and then changing your context, location, and ideas, only to become a new thing later on. Hopefully a better thing. A thing that has grown from all of the old things that it used to be, so that it can just become a better, wisened, stronger thing.
I am ecstatic, and terrified, and anxious, and happy to begin as and to be a new thing.
Thank you for reading, and for any help