When I move, life goes frenetic as time loses meaning; edges blurred by cortisol. The days dissipate into tasks. My relation to everything changes as peace becomes alien. Being my fifth such move in five years, the chaos is hardly accustomed, still.
But I must say there’s a liberation to moving that’s worth savoring. On the other side of mourning and grieving (both time and objects), comes clarity about how you spent your time and what you aspire for next. Moving is accounting.
For context regarding this here move, my wife and I are parting with most of what we own, aside from essentials and sentimentals. Why? Uhaul prices are obscene. Why is that? Per Uhaul’s website, prices are determined by a supply and demand algorithm and demand to move from California is high apparently. How high? To rent a 5×8 trailer (what we’re using), it’s $187 from North Carolina to California. The reverse (our journey) is $1150. Imagine if we rented a truck… (imagine no more, it would have $3-5K).
It is what it is. We get the chance to live lightly, forced but embraced. And since I’ve accepted the great renunciation, I’ve learned some things:
1) Clothing’s value is practical and emotional. Last week, I took two, heaping laundry baskets of clothes to a local consignment shop. At least 50% was designer. I’d say we spent several thousand dollars on those clothes. The shop bought from us maybe eight pieces of clothing, gave us $100 in cash, and gave us back two heaping laundry baskets of clothing. Takeaway? If you don’t love it, don’t buy it.
2) “Less is more” has no ceiling in its applicability. Two weekends ago, we boxed up the kitchen and living room, aside from essentials such as coffee cups, plates, and perishable food (ordered by importance). As I type this, six boxes sit behind me full of these things. Not once have I needed something that is in those boxes.
3) Moving feels necessary. The parting with things, making hard choices, and relinquishment sucks but feels primal. I feel closer to the truth of my existence, without as many things. Of course, for the rest of our lives, we’ll fight to retain what we can’t and struggle to part with everything, again and again.
Moving (especially this move) seems to be good practice for death (another form of accounting). I know, took a morbid turn there, but without accepting our death, how do we know how to live? When I look back at these years in California, good, bad, and ugly, I cherish most my memories. With friends laughing. With co-workers catching up. With my wife exploring. With myself surfing. In the accounting of my time in California, quality time is all I get to take. It was never things. Not even “experiences” but just regular old memories, detailed in Thursday’s To Leave California, I Had to Love It First .
Same goes with death I assume, but having not seen those sights, I’ll look to my moving experience for guidance: bank quality time and part with everything else.
To living a life we love,
Ryan Fightmaster, MD
(P.S. On LinkedIn I’m experimenting with more informal discussions and have really enjoyed it. Happy to connect and converse if you’re on the platform.)
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