Life-in-a-box

Snapping bubble wrap, taping cardboard boxes, balling up newspaper- yes, it's moving time. This weekend, Martin and I started packing up the apartment. It's strange how much space you suddenly have when everything is tightly sealed into squares and rectangles. The apartment feels bigger, colder. And bit by bit, box by box, our current home is becoming as foreign as our future dwelling in India.

Many people, including myself, can see obvious downsides to relocating every one or two years. Never quite feeling settled, bidding farewell to friends, dealing with the exhausting rigamarole of setting up bank accounts and residence permits, etc. However, as I went through my stuff today, sorting what to pack, what to ship, and what to toss, it occured to me there is at least one benefit: simplicity of belongings.

As a kid, I would save all kinds of paraphernalia religiously for the sake of sentiment. I saved notebooks, spelling tests, book reports, and report cards. I kept personalized napkins from weddings, neatly folded. There were my boxes of assorted buttons, unsharpened pencils, and unused erasers. I hoarded BonneBell chapsticks in every possible flavor. I even controlled sugar urges to save candy-- a particular lollipop cherished for years in a ballerina jewelery box comes to mind. Perhaps disturbingly, I kept a crayfish dissection from 7th grade because I was proud, and oddly enough it didn't rot or smell. Not that much.

But constantly packing and unpacking your life makes this kind of neurotic squirreling impossible. Today I threw out jeans I'll probably never fit in again (such is life post-partum), outdated CD-ROMS, companionless socks, old mail, crumpled receipts. Sadly, I found nothing as ridiculous as the treasures of my youth. I'm sure living around the world with hyper-organized Martin will only increase scantness on my part. And until I start collecting every homework assignment, scribble, and 3-D diorama Isabel brings home from school, I'm OK with that.