Why I Hate Moving?
We’ve all been there - that exact moment when something happens regarding your old place and you know it’s time to start looking for a new one. Either you need a bigger place for your growing family (aka, the moment before the kids seriously maim themselves) or maybe you simply can’t take commuting for hours anymore; I mean, there are only so many naps you can take on the underground before someone starts worrying for your mental well-being.
So, what do you do?
As any other reasonable - or non-reasonable - human being would agree, I’d usually decide to move. Oh, the thrill of new beginnings, the hype of it all! Let’s make a long story short and skip the part about apartment hunting and the oh-so-charming lot of people you meet along the way.
Instead, I’ll talk about the comfort zone and how leaving it is never an easy task but always proves to be a good idea in the end.
Our homes, apartments or any other place where we’ve spent the biggest part of the last few years have become, voluntarily or not, our comfort zones. After all, you do know all of the weak spots around the place where you’ve spent countless of rainy evenings - God knows how long it’ll take me before I find where the roof is leaking when it rains in my new place.
So swept in the joy of being so brave and completely ignorant of the size of the moving quest that lies ahead, we all hippity-hop into the packing part. It can’t be that bad, right?
Well… studies have shown that - joking, no studies are quoted here though experience has shown that somewhere after the third or fourth box I start questioning my own sanity. That mainly happens out of two reasons: either I slowly start grasping the number of things I’ve accumulated through the years or I start wondering whether I REALLY need to move all of that stuff in the first place. Not proud of this but garbage bags have become my new best friends in more than one moving occasion - though, in all fairness, it’s kind of liberating once you start throwing things away. I’d probably survive even without the TV Choice edition of July, 2011.
In the middle of it all, doubt creeps its way in; Have I labelled everything? Is there really a need to label every box, or is that another Pinterest misconception? Is this how reasonable people act in life?
Then, stuck between piles of books, kitchen pots, clothing piles the size of Mount Everest and shoes I last wore when Love Actually premiered, I realise I haven’t seen my furry little friend in a while. Or if you have kids - you realise they’ve become suspiciously quiet meanwhile. Naturally, you find out the hard way that kids are never quiet without a reason and sometimes that reason may be colourful drawings on the wall of your now soon-to-be former home. At least the cat was just asleep in one of the boxes.
Just like soldiers do, most of the time I bravely manage to live through the packing bit and then, it’s time to make the old place shine. I always say, you only learn how big the place really is once you have to deep clean it. Wow, is that the burnt out candle I once accidentally pushed under the couch and always secretly thought may set my place on fire (but never actually bothered to look for) or… is that a rotten food of some sorts? Who cares, I’ll be leaving the place anyway!
By the time I’m done and ready to make the move, the moving company - alongside with all of my earthly belongings - probably got lost at least a couple of times. There are more than a handful of people I know who had to spend the night in a nearby motel because wooden floors are so last century.
But then… you get to enter your new home. Push all of the boxes aside and here comes the liberating moment of entering a new place. True, that moment isn’t as glorious as you may hope for - unpacking is almost like doing cardio - but human beings have a rather odd liking of fresh starts and I’m no exception.
So surrounded by the mess it’ll take me days to clean, it suddenly dawns on me that actually, this feeling isn’t that bad. Crack open a bottle of beer - because no one knows where the wine glasses are - and cheers for managing to survive one more moving storm.
If you think about it, it’s like starting a whole different chapter in the book of life, a blank new page you’ll get to write out for yourself - or for the less dreamy lot out there, just another empty place you’ll get to fill out with a bunch of unnecessary things once you settle down. A place you’ll call home.
Until, like every other reasonable person, you decide to do it all over again.