Month: March 2015

at the beginning of the packing process, i was a rockstar at remaining unemotionally attached and i threw out bags and bags and bags and piles and piles and bags of things. things i couldn’t get rid of four years ago when i moved to this current apartment. i chucked it all with cold calculation.

it hit a screeching halt when it was time to dive into my closet. i put aside maybe seven things to give to good will, but the rest i was all “maybe i’ll wear this again. it’s so cute. remember when i bought it. remember where i wore it. i’ll definitely wear it again. it stays.” as my packing supplies didn’t support moving clothes on hangers, i wrestled with finding a solution to all of those clothes. it wasn’t until yesterday when i remembered this poem by adriana that i recognized it was the memories of skinnier times or when i first wore it or where i was when i previously wore it or who i was when i wore it before that i was having trouble giving up.

clothes are a tangible representation of ourselves and that’s hard to pull off the hanger and discard. i was afraid of losing not only the options of more outfits but the memories too. out of sight out of mind, as they say, and true enough, the smaller fragments of memories might not linger but they were part of how i got to where i am today, to who i am today. they’re the foundation of my soul and they’ll always echo in my life.

it’s time to toss the clothes and pack up only the memories which are so light, so easy to move.

i’ve always considered myself a patient person, until that is, my dad called me out on being impatient. i realized it’s true. he’s right. some of the time. i need more data on when/why/how i’m patient vs. not, but what i do know for certain is that it’s an odd thing to have something you’d always thought to be true about yourself be challenged.

i went to type an email at work asking for some promised data, but hearing my dad’s voice echo in my head, i deleted the email and waited for my coworker to email me on his time schedule, not mine.

(is my patience all about what i can and can’t control?) (like traffic and other people and traveling?)

i love secret conversations with family about travel, birthdays, and surprises.

the four numbers were supposed to add up to 100. mine = 98. twice. i pulled out my iphone calculator and mumbled once or twice as the figures i punched in were wildly off. he pulled the paper from my hands and hunched over the figures while our teacher rattled on about the next/current assignment. i pulled the papers he’d need for this next portion out of his binder while he continued to calculate. he whispered that he found a difference in one of the four categories. we burst out in hushed giggles as i pointed out that meant the total was now 97. secret math conversations with me never add up correctly.