My house feels empty. Empty, and quiet. I have never been inclined to keep empty, quiet spaces; yet, here I am, shedding these last bits of my Missouri life by cleaning, packing, and donating.

It’s a little weird. Not bad-weird. Just weird. I’m finding things I thought I lost ages ago, and throwing away things I thought I would always keep.

(I have slight hoarder tendencies. I am also not a very tidy person. Untidy packrats like myself totally suck at moving.)

As I tape up boxes and silently curse myself for owning so much stuff, I find that I am less preoccupied with what I once thought were necessities for moving: finding the perfect job; being totally financially independent; and finding a city I could live in forever.

When people find out that I am moving to Atlanta, the conversation tends to go like this:

Person: Oooh, do you have a job?

Me: Um. Not yet.

Person: So why Atlanta?

Me: Well, my boyfriend lives there, so I’m moving in with him.

Person (suddenly wide-eyed and understanding): OOOOOOOOOOOOH. Well, at least you will have someone taking care of you!

Which, of course, was my plan all along: make some dude fall in love with me, tell him I will move in with him, and act like I am looking for a job while he pays for all of my stuff, because I got rid of all of my other stuff before I moved.

(I’m joking. In case that wasn’t obvious. Yes, a boy really wants to live with me and deal with my stupid sense of humor.)

While I do want to find a job I enjoy, it no longer feels like a requirement. Feeling independent doesn’t, either. And neither does feeling 100% in love with Atlanta, because I am in love with the person in Atlanta.

All of the things that I thought I needed are just that: things.

And things can be packed up in boxes, and they can be lost, and they can be found four years later and donated to Goodwill.

Things change, whether I want them to or not.

There are times when I feel like I am not enough: not smart enough, not successful enough, not pretty enough.

There are also times when I feel like I am too much: too weird, too anxious, too emotional, too annoying to deal with on any given day.

As you can imagine, this place of pressure and self-doubt is where so much of my anxiety has made its home. And this is how I make things more important than they really are. I will not miss that dress I haven’t worn in five years, and I will not miss a hypothetical life dominated by career and money.

Instead, I get to keep the things that matter, like spending time with my best friends and family during Christmas, and going on adventures in Atlanta with my boyfriend. I get to keep books and my childhood toys and feel the weight of must-haves and must-dos fall off my shoulders.

I don’t think I’ll need much else.

3 thoughts on “boxes

  1. So Topaz had told me to read your blog for like millions of times and somehow it always slipped my mind and clearly this is my loss because OH MY. I thought this was going to be a boxes-are-symbolic post but it ended up as so much more? JUST I CANNOT EVEN. All the best with your time in Atlanta!


    1. Oh, Alyssa! Thank you for your kind words! You are so lovely. I clearly need to read your blog more, too. 😀 And I will be sure to update everyone about Atlanta (it was one of my reasons for finally getting Instagram, too. I’m going to make Drew [the boyfriend] take a lot of selfies and he will be like WHAT THE HECK and it will be great.), don’t worry! Thanks for all the well-wishes, too. 🙂


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