I love packing.
Maybe it's because I've done a fair amount of it in my nearly-twenty-eight years.
Maybe it's because I love puzzles - I love the challenge of finding that one unique object that fits the hole perfectly - and the feeling of immense satisfaction derived from placing it there.
Maybe it's because it usually means something exciting is ahead. An adventure. Something new. Uncharted territory.
Maybe it's because it's been pouring rain all day and I've been drinking coffee...and the combination of rain and coffee and pretty much ANYTHING else always makes me happy!
I know that packing is stressful for some. Not everyone finds joy in the puzzle. Not everyone loves adventure or change. It is, for some, an unsettling activity...to have your possessions strewn about here and there...to be surrounded by disarray.
But somehow, for me, it is a grounding activity.
I love the slow, sorting process. Reading old letters, and feeling connected to friends and family, even as I sit alone amid piles of boxes and papers. Thumbing through books - my dear old friends - that have sat, untouched, neglected, on my bookshelf for months on end. I feel grounded in my history....relationships, experiences....I feel myself settle as I remember them. These objects that lie around me on the floor - humble as they are - speak of the journey - the ups and downs of the roller coasters, and also the constants that have kept me strapped in for the ride.
I love the opportunity to purge my closets and cupboards of clutter. It is a cleansing process. There are things I wasn't emotionally ready to rid myself of the last time I did this. But time and distance have been faithful to loosen my grip...slowly, little-by-little. I feel grounded as I recognize how little is truly necessary, as I am overwhelmed with gratitude, knowing that I have everything I need. Much more than I need.
I love that moment of goodbye - the final piece of tape - the last tug of the zipper - I love knowing that the next time I will see these books, these measuring cups, these sandals...I will be in a new place, a new home. I feel grounded knowing that even though there will be waves of change, I will be anchored by these familiar objects...the tablespoon I scoop coffee beans with every morning, the Altoid box that houses my bobby pins, the Rwandan basket that serves as a coin deposit.
Somehow, in the chaos of cookie sheets in my bedroom and patio tables in my living room, I feel connected to the past and the future - and yet I am also fully present in the now. These things have helped to make this place a home for me - not necessarily because they have any inherent value in themselves - but because they remind me of the people, experiences, truth and beauty that I have known in the journey. And though they will look different in a new home - a new context - they remind me of the things that are constant. The things that are known. Certain.
And I will need those certainties in the next few weeks and months, as I am uprooted once more. As I close a chapter. As I say (and have said already) a few too many and too painful goodbyes.
I came to this place 2 years ago with a small collection of things that told my story. Things from all over the world, from different seasons of life. I look at them, and I am reminded of Maggie from Amani in Nairobi, and my dad and his love for the mountains, and my traveling buddy Kathryn and her mad photography skills. And in a few months, when I sit in my new home, I will be reminded once more of Maggie and my dad and Kathryn.
But a few more objects will have found their way to my walls and to my shelves. And they will speak not of Kenya or the Cascades or Bavaria. They will speak of Baltimore.
They will speak of Mount Vernon and Inner Harbor and Fort McHenry and Peabody. They will speak of hard work and tears and failure. They will speak of rehearsal and practice and collaboration. They will speak of grand adventures and the Bun Shop and mandatory fun. They will speak of growth and change and dear friends and shared souls - of being known and understood.
In a few weeks, I will say goodbye to Baltimore. And I am ready and thankful to do so.
But I am also ready and thankful to take it with me. And in a few months, when I unpack these boxes, Baltimore will resurface, in all its bittersweetness. It will find its new home, between Kathryn's lantern photos and Maggie's quilt....somehow woven into the fabric of my story, somehow now such an irreplaceable part of me that I cannot seem to fathom how I ever functioned without it.
In a few weeks, Baltimore will become a memory. And when the time comes, I will find the Baltimore-sized hole in the puzzle. It will find its place in the suitcase, among the lanterns and mountains. And in a few months, it will settle into its new perch on my shelf. A small, silent testament to lessons learned, battles fought, hours practiced, tears shed, puddles danced in, breakthroughs achieved, hearts known, new parts of myself uncovered...and an unspeakable multitude of gifts to be grateful for.
