Moving day, once again.
It always reminds me of other times of moving out, rather than moving on. Most notably the time that sibling attacked me and I had a friend offer to put me up in a different state if I could transfer my job in 2008. I found that the trashcan was bigger than the moving box.
My life has been “what fits in the box stays” in 2008, 2009, 2010, and 2015. Some of those times I have not had a “where I am actually and physically moving to” as a destination. Limbo-that in between world of uncertainty? Yep. That is my destination.
The box is held together with tape, has markered words scribbled on it. Some other odd labels from its previous usages. How I live resembles this box: I dispose of things that may have been useful if they stayed around a little longer.
But my life isn’t possessions, at least it shouldn’t be. I think it should have as much possessions as a bird flying needs. Those things sometimes keep me focused, remind myself that I have a heart with a few spots of darkness at the edges.
It’s probably better to feel with your heart to remind yourself that you have one than to look in a box after you peel the various tape away to stare upon something representative of life that could resemble just another thing to dispose of.