I hate packing…

Right now a melody with the above words is going through my head. It’s a nice little jingle. Happy. Cheerful. Quite unlike how I’m feeling.

My back is killing me, my left ear is bleeding and red from my earring, my neck hurts to turn, I’m cranky, hot and tired, I have to pack everything, take care of all kinds of silly business, my feet are cracked and bled on my favorite socks the other night and I can’t stand the taste of chocolate right now. What is wrong with me?

Everything on this list (minus the bleeding ear and the distate for chocolate) are understandable right now. I finally went to get boxes today and started the mass move. But this is so much easier than moving from university. My dorm room in Luther had so much more crammed into it than this one does. And I’m downsizing. A lot.

I’ve got 4 garbage bags to toss (not including the 3 from last week), another bag of clothes to donate, a couple of shopping bags of books to donate, and hopefully much more will go. I’m becoming less of a pack rat than I was. Books are still a problem, as I love them so much, but after this move I can leave all of my music books in one place. They don’t have to follow me around anymore.

I tossed all of my notes from university (except those from my Political Science 100 class) out today. I kept my essays for future reference, but everything else is gone. Even my Luther clipboard. Gone. I don’t need it anymore. I don’t need those notes anymore, either. And it was quite freeing.

I hate being loaded down with stuff. Stuff of any kind. It doesn’t just have to be material things, but emotional, spiritual, physical stuff. Some I keep because I’m afraid of what will happen if I let go. Other stuff I’m just too lazy to work off. And some things won’t budge no matter how hard I try.

Moving back home is scarier than moving out here was. Here I had no idea what I was getting into. At home, I know exactly what’s there. And what stuff there is to load me down. So, I have to make a conscious effort to weigh everything before I take it on. Easier said than done.

But moving home makes me excited. While walking home from church on Saturday, the thought of “What if this is the wrong move?” entered my head (the fear of making mistakes is something I need to continue to battle). I answered, “And what if it is?” I move back here. Or somewhere else. Life is more fluid than I make it. Making a wrong decision doesn’t condemn you; it allows you to make a new choice. A more informed choice.

Talking to my Mom tonight, we realized how much I’ve grown. Not so much in the past couple of years, but in the past few months. Decisions had to be made, paths had to be crossed, life had to change. I’ve learned a lot about myself, who I am, what it is I want, and that in most cases, I have so much more control of my life than I believe.

I also realized how naive I was. How I kept waiting for earth-shattering moments to happen that would help me make certain decisions, make life better, make life whole. But those things rarely happen. Life is about all of the steps in between, even the smallest ones.

In a lot of ways, I have had more life experiences on a stage than off of it. Why? Because I thought things just happened. Love just happens. Friendship just happens. Happiness just happens. But they don’t. A lot goes into creating those things. You have to make a decision. You have to get involved.

I’m not sure if I believe all of the above or whether they’re just words that I should be saying. But at least I’m aware of them. Aware of the power I hold. And afraid of it. They’re the first steps of many…

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