A New Home

I am moving again, and after packing just one box of books, I look at the rest of my room full of crap to realize how much I hate moving. I was lucky last time because my parents moved from Montana to Nevada while I was still in Poland. Being on the other side of the world is an awesome excuse, isn't it?

In fact, I have moved at least five times in twenty years while most people spend most of their childhood and adolescence in the same house. On average, that's every four years that I have moved. I know I should not complain because I am sure there are families out there that have to relocate every few months, but five times to pack up your life and move is still hard. It's not because of the emotional attachment. It's the packing, loading, and unpacking that is a pain in the ass. I can't believe I have accumulated this much stuff, and I am not the kind of person who holds on to things unless it's really sentimental or I still need it. I should probably go through my things again, though I am nowhere near as bad as some people

Yesterday, I helped my mom bag clothes she intends on giving to Goodwill. The result was a mountain of seven trash bags full of apparel that could probably clothe all of Africa. Her closet was noticeably more organized; on the other hand, she still had twice as many clothes as me. My philosophy is that if I have forgotten about it and don't miss it, it might as well go in the "give away" pile.

I may have lied a little about the emotional attachment part. When I was fifteen, my parents, brother, and I moved to Montana from California. I missed California purely because of the fact that everything was so familiar and it was the only place where I grew up. It was also the first time I lived so far away from both of my sisters.

Suddenly, life thrust me into a place that had completely different people, surroundings, weather, and lifestyle. Looking back on it, I don't miss much about Montana aside from my best friend (who still lives there). It's been only a year and a half and I've forgotten most of my classmates. I absolutely did not fit in because a lot of people in my class grew up with each other.Together, they experienced those times that make life memorable - the first day of school, the first night away from home, the first point in their lives where the opposite sex was not a source of cooties. I am sure I was not the only one to be the outsider, though it certainly felt like I was alone. The exceptional few people, however, I probably will not forget because they were the only ones that ever bothered to be friendly with "that snob from California".

Being negative never amounted to anything. But I'm admitting my hypocrisy in saying that I am dreading this move. I just want the packing/unpacking done already so we can all settle in to accustom ourselves to the new house.

Maybe I should get rid of everything and buy new stuff. Ah, only in a perfect world.