I just moved out of my apartment. Though it is ALWAYS tough, this one was especially hard. When we moved into this place we all thought we had a found a home that would last us for years. We loved each other from the start, and our apartment reflected that. We leave it in completely different places in each of our lives, and with most of the feeling of home gone. Yay, NYC?
There is something to be said for moving out of a place though. There's something cleansing about the massive amounts of junk that inevitably get thrown out (We all have that shirt we haven't worn in 3 years). It's a pleasant reminder that things are not where our value lies, and they can be shed in an instant; most of them you won't even miss. And the exact opposite of that is my other favorite side effect of moving: rediscovering long-lost memories or treasures. My best discovery this time around: The necklace I'd lost that has my Mayan symbol on it, an Intellectual who Rejects Negativity. Let me tell you, I've been wearing that daily ever since.
There is also an undeniable sense of adventure that comes with moving, and the right moving buddy can make that a beautiful memory for the ages. I have been blessed to twice move (and both times under rather traumatic circumstances) with the incredible Kelsey Schroth. On Friday the 2 of us threw everything I own into 2 trips to a storage unit, Tetris'd for the win and fit it all in my space, and still got finished in time for me to make Shakespeare in the Park at 8 pm. That, ladies and gentlemen, is no easy task. We earned our high fives, jamming with the windows rolled down in the Uhaul truck, and joy riding the furniture dollies down the storage center hallways. All kidding aside: What am I going to do without that girl?
When we moved into that place, it instantly felt like home. It was a beautiful apartment in a neighborhood we loved, and the three of us were a family right away. We expected to stay there for years. Moving out one year later, all of our lives look completely different, and we're all, essentially, going our own ways.
I went back up by myself on Sunday to finish cleaning out the last bits. Kelsey and Saloni had finished up, so it was just me. I started carrying things down to the trash that hadn't made the storage cut: the table and chairs, bags of clothes I never wore, odds and ends. Brian had left that morning for a week away, so I was all set to have a pretty sucktacular day.
Then I met a couple who were going through the trash areas of the apartment buildings, looking through all the things people were throwing out. My clothes fit the guy perfectly. The wife was so excited to find a 'wow, so gorgeous!' new table and chairs. I kept bringing down more for them to look through, and we talked about the Heights, and how it's changing, and the price of rent, and moving, and life. It turned into the perfect way to pass along the stuff I couldn't keep, and to let go of that apartment. It was a beautiful and bittersweet reminder to cherish the home that I had there, even for a short while.
