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September 29, 2015

A Whole Life in 17 Boxes.

girl, boxes, moving

Boxes piled high, bags packed.

Clothes stuffed and crinkled, not folded, just wrinkled.

Scarves thrown on top carelessly, seductive in their silkiness, kissing tattered pages of the books I always hoped I’d read.

A whole life in 17 boxes.

What about the things I can’t put in a box?

The feelings, the bittersweet memories, the exquisite experiences, the days so painful I wish I could forget?

Emotions come strongly, like twisting tornados in my chest.

I can’t go pleasantly numb or zone out like a zombie.

My whole life stands before me, in my hands and in my soul.

The art of touching every single item I own, deciding whether to keep it, where to place it and listening to see which box calls out it’s name—is exhausting.

Every item contains an imprint of a memory.

Every long, flowing apricot-colored scarf and pair of ripped blue jeans and piece of broken costume jewelry sends a shiver through my spine. An echo through my heart.

How many lives have I led? How many chapters have there been?

Things bloom and burn away so quickly; it’s hard to keep track of all that has been, all that is, and all that we hope will be.

It’s nice to stop, to pause, for a precious second; to digest and take it all in.

Frozen time.

Icicle seconds never tick, in this hollow, strange in-between.

Memories fly around like snowflakes, sparkly and chilly on my skin, like January. Icicles of past moments melt as cool drops of water land on my tongue with a splash, a slow-motion tribute to who I used to be.

There is so much to keep, to hold close, to cherish and yet there is so much I can’t hang on to.

I have to let go.

To relinquish the warm glow of the past: the beauty, the pain, the wonder, the shame, the stinging sweetness.

I have to make space for something new.

Something more delicious.

It hurts. It’s freeing. It’s beautiful. It’s satisfying. It’s messy as f*ck.

This is life: staying still, peering into the past, and moving forward—all at the same time.

Always shifting, like a wicked little merry-go-round.

We’re always navigating the threshold of some long-awaited transition, a top-secret destination, an intangible location.

A surprising journey unfolds before our eyes like a golden carpet, daily.

And so, these thoughts billow from my brain and form thick clouds of silvery smoke that swirl around my hair.

I return to my breath.

The rapid rise and fall of my chest.

Rise and fall.

Inhale and exhale.

My breath anchors me.

It holds me, as I fall face-first into the unknown.

~

Relephant:

She Let Go.

9 Simple Steps to Make Moving a Breeze. 

Author: Sarah Harvey

Editor: Ashleigh Hitchcock

Photo: Flickr/Martinak15

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