I know it feels like the sheets of packing paper will swallow you whole. I know that you’re questioning every purchase you’ve ever made, and how you could have possibly accumulated so much stuff. I know that everything feels new, and your nervous system feels raw, and that going anywhere feels exhausting because you don’t know where anything is. You’ve never navigated that parking lot, or that odd intersection, or that strange left-lane exit and you are just trying to find the nearest Target.
You couldn’t find the spoons this morning, and you haven’t decided where to hang the towel. The steps around the kitchen feel less like dancing and more like walking with swim fins. The comforting motions of familiarity and ease are absent. You will walk between the bedroom and the bathroom fifty times because you can’t remember where your deodorant is.
And of course you started a new job the exact same week, so even your time at work feels all new. You are memorizing names and biographies and figuring out how long your food takes to warm up in this new microwave. Someone will be in line behind you and you may eat food that is still very cold because you didn’t get the time right on the first try.
Just as moving will make you question your relationship with possessions, starting a new job will have you questioning everything about who you are and who you hope to become. You’ll pore over industry newsletters, trying to orient yourself to a new language through the sheer volume of immersion. You’ll wonder if you have any skill at all. In other moments you will feel like a genius. You’ll spend most meetings feeling like you’re listening to Mandarin, and then in one glittering moment you will bravely offer an insight, which will feel like coming up for air.
You will want a hug as your nervous system aches for comfort. In some moments you will wish you were married. This is part of the evaluate-every-corner-of-your-life process. You will take a long hot shower and wash your hair, and it will feel something like the comfort you need. You will curl up with your childhood blanky and think about all of the strange new places you have conquered together. You will laugh at your love for this worn piece of cloth and wonder for just a moment if you are too old to hold it close. And then you will decide that if you love it and it makes you brave, it should stay. We should allow ourselves the things that get us through.
This season will be rich with dreaming and possibility in all the best ways. It is necessary. At least for who you are. You need change like water needs to roll and churn. And while at times you will wonder why you seek it so compulsively, and you will wish that contentment came more easily, please recognize that it is also one of the most beautiful parts of who you are.
So when the packing paper leaves little cuts on your fingers, and your arms ache from taking the 200th load of cardboard outside, and you struggle to figure out the lunchtime dynamics of a new team, know that your choice to participate has already shown your bravery. And at night, when you look from your window at an unfamiliar skyline, longing deeply for the familiar, know that this place too can become home. You will eventually stop saying “I just moved,” and you won’t need the GPS so much, and your heart will expand to hold love for a whole new place, which will nestle in beside all the places you’ve loved before. And that, dearest, is a lovely thought, a good way to live, and just enough comfort to help you unpack one more box.
Ansley Kelly (’16) makes her home in Rochester, NY, where she delights in short, sweet summers spent sailing and long winters spent skiing at her favorite mountain. Between outdoor adventures, you can find her buying books more quickly than she can read them and indulging in mid-morning naps. She works for Wegmans Food Markets where she finds purpose and joy in feeding her community and the wider world.
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Lovely and highly relatable 🙂
I’m sending a replenished bundle of hugs that you may use at will.
Thanks grandma ❤️
You’re getting there and I couldn’t be more proud of your bravery and poise. You’re doing it right. Thanks for letting me tag along those first days.
Great post. The narrator captures the out-of-body experience of moving. Hopefully you’ll be back in your own skin soon.
Thanks mom! The out of body narration wasn’t intentional but I love your interpretation of it! Thanks for coming along on the ride
I’m soon to be 80 … my wife and I have moved a good many times … your essay had me laughing aloud … so wonderfully true … I thoroughly enjoyed your blankie element … a fine essay, a delight to read … my most recent move was 2017 – from Los Angels to Pasadena … everything you describe – absolutely true. Thanks for sharing. You’re a fine writer.
Thank you for those kind words Tom! They mean the world to me.
So a reader gets a special love connection when the writers spills out their souls on the internet for all to read. You may never know what I am talking about but I just wanted to say that I like to obey God immediately when he puts thoughts for me to do something crazy and it gets me in trouble in the end. Can I plead mental illness and my medicine must not be working right. My motive was only caring, and loving, and wanting to do something helpful to repay people back for helping me. No evil intent here just love for people.