The Big Move

The hardest part of moving to a new city isn't the packing. It isn't the heavy lifting. It's figuring out where to park your car.

I'll be honest: I struggled with the packing and lifting. "The big move" was leaving my childhood and moving out as an adult. I couldn't figure out what needed to come with me to my new life and what could be replaced or forgotten. I couldn't figure out how to maneuver my furniture around the stairs. I couldn't figure out if I had gotten weaker or if I'd somehow fit a baby elephant in my boxes.

Despite the trouble of moving my things in, the most frustrating part of my move was remembering where I had put my scissors. Or maybe it was the endless trips to the grocery store because I kept forgetting something important like plates. Or maybe it was the overwhelming sense of unfamiliarity in every corner of my new home.

The hardest part of moving to a new city is not knowing anything about anything.

Not knowing whether it's better to use the bus or if the restaurant has parking. Not knowing the way back from the gas station. Not knowing which aisle has milk.

Not even knowing your own routine. Every time I move, I relearn my basic needs. I've realized just how much it takes for one person to live,to exist,to be comfortable,to feel safe.

The early days of moving are a constant feeling of being unsettled and relearning how to be yourself again. I relearned whether I like my pens on the left or right side of my desk. I relearned how many grapes I eat in a week. I relearned whether I like to keep my leftovers on the top or bottom shelf of the fridge.

It is such a blessing to exist in a space as yourself. It is such a gift to be settled in a home and know where you keep your forks, your scarves, and your little things. It is so lucky to be able to walk into your home and know that your shoes come off by the door, your keys go on the hook to your left, and your favorite mug goes at the bottom of the dishwasher because it's a little too tall to go at the top.

I spent so much time creating a routine and recreating familiarity that I forgot to mourn "the big departure:" leaving the people and the place that raised me.

I worry that I took seeing my city and my people every day for granted. I worry that when I see my nieces and nephews they will look like strangers: the small changes I saw almost every day will culminate in a face that I recognize but don't know.

I didn't register that packing up my life to move to a new place meant removing the traces of myself and the life that I lived there.

I can only hope that they remember me and that the comfort I found with them is something I can recreate in this new chapter.