Sure, packing and cleaning out can be dreary, but there's such a cathartic nature to it. Looking at each of your possessions and deciding if it's good enough to accompany you on the next phase of life, or better suited for the trash. It's your own personal reality TV show where you get to vote off your stuff.
And then the move itself. I remember crying uncontrollably as I left Boston the first time...then again in Amsterdam...and then of course in Boston again. Each time standing alone in the empty apartment that held so many memories and saying goodbye is always like leaving a friend behind. I have always loved where I lived. That's the hard part...but then arriving to the new place is a dawn of a new day.
Turning a place from an impersonal shell to an extension of yourself is nothing short of magic. Finding new places to display your treasures; a marriage between your own character and that of the space you have claimed. Sleeping in your bed for the first time surrounded by 4 new walls, hoping the street below will be quiet enough to sleep...as I type, I am taking a deep breath, eager for the next time I get to experience that feeling.
Almost since I can remember, I have been moving every 4 to 5 years or so, starting I guess back when I would follow my parents as they moved around in their post-divorce years. It's just become easy for me. I have been in my current living situation for 1,400 days now. As much as I blame my wish for new space on the obvious issues surrounding our current living situation, it really does go deeper than that. I am itching to pack up and go, even if just across the street or down the hallway. I feel it in the pit of my stomach just like I feel the desire to smoke a cigarette. Is there some support group for this addiction?
My colleague went to go sign the lease papers for a new apartment she and her boyfriend just stumbled upon yesterday. She was so giddy and happy as she left, and I feel so jealous of her giddiness.