Moving [on]

"There's no crying in shipping!"

It’s been too cold in my room to write a proper post. Here goes.

I’m a creature of habit.  I still have a shirt from 6th grade phys. ed. that I wear consistently.  I don’t want a new car, even though I have to drop about $700 a year on maintenance a year.  I don’t like to move.  I’ve moved a total of about 10 times since 2004 for various reasons.  I’ve finally landed in a place that I love, with a great roommate and great location.  I don’t want to move out of here, but as the thoughts of our lease running out and finding a new place run through my mind, I can’t help but cringe at the thought of moving.  I grew so tired of my transience in college.  After graduation, I just wanted a stable place.  My mother has lived in the same apartment for 17 years.  I envy her.  That sounds ludicrous to most of you, I’m sure.  We’re young.  We have to move.  We have to possess a Wanderlust in order to fulfill some fabricated principle that we must leave our surroundings to live.  That may be the case, but I’m happy here, and why ruin a good thing?

The process is simple.  You pack your shit up.  You clean up after yourself.  You labor arduously until all things are on a truck.  You carry those things into a new place, and you unpack.

The physical aspect of moving is hard enough, but emotionally it’s devastating.  You’ve grown so close to your old place.  You love it.  You think the world of it, and you want nothing more but to spend a really long, meaningful time with it, perhaps even live there the rest of your life.  But, the pressures of the world, your life and necessity mandate that you move on.  You have to leave.  Memories get left behind.  Yet, many stick with you.  They creep in your head from time to time reminding you that at one point you had everything.

The hardest part is knowing that someone else will be living there.

You might get lucky and see the old place by chance, but you’ll never be the same.  You’ll never come home to it.  You’ll never feel the contours of the walls again.  You know just where everything is, you know how it reacts and it’s comfortable, but it’ll never be yours again.  When I leave, I always hope that it’ll have nice new tenant.  Someone who appreciates the place for what it is.  In my case, it was perfect.  It is perfect.  It’ll never leave my conscience.

If you’re lucky, the place might just be too perfect.  You’ll think about it constantly, “Why? Why does the new place not have this? I miss the old one.  That one seemed to know what I was thinking.  It was there for me, not in a physical sense, but it calmed me knowing that this place was just right, and nothing could go wrong.  Everything was great.”

If a place is just that good, nothing will compare to it.  Nothing will get even close.  You’ll have to live with the fact that you’re not only existing without what you want the most, you’re also settling for something that isn’t as great.

I might be a creature of habit, but I don’t settle well.  I fight back, or I move on.

She knows I want to fight back, but we know that we need to move on,


5 thoughts on “Moving [on]”

  1. hey, thanks for writing this. i needed it.

    i get attached to things, and especially places, really easily. not even necessarily my own home-place, but other places where magic happened and because it happened there, i feel as though giving it up ends the magic.

    i don’t actually mind change so much as i mind moving on.

    “She knows I want to fight back, but we know that we need to move on” –beautiful.

  2. Well done.

    I fought so hard for Duj. By popping in, dropping by, going back… I tried to hold on to the pieces of it that I had left. But you are right. “You’ll never come home to it. You’ll never feel the contours of the walls again. You know just where everything is, you know how it reacts and it’s comfortable, but it’ll never be yours again.”

    I couldn’t have said it better myself.

  3. Hey Dago,

    Great post. I felt the same way when I left my first apartment after 2 years…I LOVED that place. I still miss it…and the cute little squirrels who would come to my window. This post speaks for many I’m sure…We all think it…but this gives us words. Thanks.

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