Leaving On a Jet Plane... Again

Another year, another move.

For my whole life, I have been moving. My first move occurred when I was 3 months old, and it was a cross-country move, like many other moves would be. I have lived in 4 California cities, 1 Massachusetts city, and 2 Brazilian cities. Not, of course, in that order, there was much more bopping around back and forth, but it's easier to write about in that grouping.

So you'd think I would be used to it by now, but in fact moving has become harder and harder as I get older. When I was a kid, I didn't have to pack anything except for my toys. I never had the traumatic experience of losing a friend because I was very social and easily made friends wherever I went, and school always kept me occupied and happy. But now there is an entire household of furniture to think about, and other responsibilities like paying rent, registering a car, finding a job, and making friends requires more effort when there are no built in activities like there were in school.

There is also the accumulation of stuff. Oh, so much STUFF, so many THINGS. I kept most of it because I thought, "This might be useful to have at some later point," or "Oh, this reminds me of [insert special person or place or event]." I'm only 23, yet I feel like I might need to take on the sort of mass purging that many women in their 40s and 50s are doing. I have toys from my childhood that I kept for their sentimental value and because you can't buy them anymore and maybe my future children would like them. But is that rational? Should I spend the money to keep them with me, or burden my parents by taking up a bunch of space for my old toys in the basement? (Note: I thought about this while I was watching Toy Story 3, with tears streaming down my face.) And am I really going to read through the notes I took in my college courses? Will I need the papers I wrote for future reference? Maybe some? Which ones? And the books. Oh, the books. As a reader since the age of 5 and an English major, I must have hundreds of books. It certainly feels that way. I love them, and I know paper is heavy, but I don't know how I could get rid of them.

This next move is particularly big because it's also the first time I'm going to move in with my boyfriend. Me! Living with a man! I'm also moving to a city I've never been to and I don't know where I'll be living because he's going ahead of me and picking the apartment. If that doesn't show trust, I don't know what does.