bandana on a stick.

You know, I could write for quite a long time about how much I hate moving. I could whine at length about each stage: finding a new place, packing, moving, unpacking, plus all the other little tiny things that you have to do to relocate your body, stuff, and services to a new location. I could talk about visiting apartment complex after complex, looking at places that somehow are all the same and being expected to pick one out of a bunch of places, none of which I'm all that impressed by. I would easily be able to rant about the boxes - oh, the boxes - that start out as empty donations from liquor and grocery stores but become heavy burdens that litter my apartment with contradicting labels like "Amaretto Amore - The Liquor of Love" and "Socks." Pages could be filled with my griping about truck rentals, heavy appliances, and one very cumbersome futon. Finally, I could wrap up the series with having to empty all the boxes - oh, the boxes - and try to figure out how I ended up with all this stuff and where it goes now. Indeed, I am experienced in moving, and I could put before your eyes many diatribes about signing leases, labeling boxes as fragile, and back pain and holy CRAP, I am so stressed out right now.

But I won't do that.

In an attempt to see the vodka box as half full, I'm going to focus on something that I like about moving: the purge. When someone is moving, they invariably complain about how much stuff they have. Just to prove my point, here I go: I have too much stuff. But see, moving is a great opportunity to correct, or at the very least, alleviate that situation. So while I fill boxes with the things that will live to see my new apartment, I'm also filling others with things that will have to wave goodbye to me as I drive away from the Goodwill donation truck.

I'm generally pretty brutal about it, too. If I can pick something up and realize that I haven't even used it while living in my current place, the thing needs to go. But even if I have used it recently, I can usually tell pretty quickly whether it deserves to spend some more time as my property. I have regretted buying many, many things. But I have never regretted getting rid of something. Never have I wished I had something back. My memory aids me in this by conveniently forgetting I ever owned the thing.

I also know that I personally have to be brutal. I mostly shop used, and so the stuff is cheap, which is a great excuse to buy a lot of it. I consider many of my purchases to be experiments. I'm not really sure if I like them, but I'm willing to pay a dollar to find out. And while sometimes that works out for me so well that I wonder why I ever had any shopper's doubt (see Amazing Technicolor Dream Sweater), sometimes it does not (see shellacked wall-hangings featuring American currency). Whatever falls into the latter category goes back to a donation center. I believe in the stuff circle of life, which is like The Lion King circle of Life, but with fewer meerkats and more wine racks.

Purging makes me feel lighter, freer. I crave simplicity. And while I can walk through a store and point out lots of things that I might want, at the same time, I want less stuff. Granted, I live by myself in a two bedroom and I have no problems filling it, so I'm hardly someone who can wrap a few necessities in a bandanna and tie it to a stick and be on my way. I'd need a really big bandanna. But I admire the people who do get by with so little as a choice, who understand that in the end, it is just stuff. Me, I'd need a big sack just for some books, and my laptop, and obviously I'd have to bring my gumball machine...my hobo lifestyle is getting very complicated already.

So each trip I make to the Goodwill truck leaves me feeling better and less burdened. This feeling frees me up to burden myself with new things, but for a little while at least, I am cleansed.

I still hate moving.