our life, deconstructed

48 days to go. I have been packing our life up one box at a time. It is surprising how exhausting this is. Every single thing I pick up represents a choice; keep, take, or toss. Some things are a given, but most fall into a gray area. And every item has a history that I relive as I wrap it up in newspaper, slip it into a box, categorize and label it. I think about who I was when I found each object, where I lived, what I wanted it for, how it fit into my life. And then I think about who I will be when I unpack it, will it have been silly to hold onto it, will I be thrilled to be reacquainted. I will miss my cool spice rack, my paintings, my piano, my history. A sharp stab of nostalgia hits my chest when I look around my lifeless house with empty walls and temporary furniture. And then it's gone. And in its place is an enormous sense of freedom.