We just moved. It took at least two months to plan, organized, and think about the whole process. In a vain attempt to be organized, I created a spreadsheet. I think it was more to make me feel better than to actually be organized and do everything "on time" and in the "proper order." The bulk of the activity happened from the days before we closed on our house and to the day we moved into it. Before we moved, we were convinced that we did not have enough stuff to fill the house as we were crowded into a tiny place and we were moving into a reasonably comfortable, but by no means large, house. We were sure. Now that we are in the place, we realize that we may not have that much extra room for the things we were positive we would need to fill it up.
One of the reasons for that is that we have a lot of books. Every one is precious. Well, not every single one, but we would be hard pressed to get rid of any of them. Even the ones we do not like, we cannot get rid of them because they are "ours." Our books are also important for our professional life. We need these books for our research and teaching. Yes, need. Yes, libraries exist and they are quite important and useful, but it is also nice to have a copy of a particular source.
The thing that I noticed however, is all the other stuff we have that was packed away in our tiny place because we had no place to store or shelve or display those things. For example, we have an entire box of coffee mugs. Now, as with books, we love coffee. I
love coffee. I love coffee mugs. I love the feel of a cup of coffee in my hands in the morning. I love the smell of coffee brewing. All these things are wonderful. I wonder, however, if I need a whole other box of mugs. The problem is that mugs, like books, remind me of where I got them, who gave them to me, where I was at a particular time in my life. (I can chart my academic development by books. Reminds me of
High Fidelity, when the main character attempts to organize his record collection autobiographically as opposed to alphabetically or by genre. Depending on how I wrote my name in the front cover determines if I obtained the book before or after I got married. Some books still have the receipts in them to tell me where I purchased them.) But the mugs...some of them I have outgrown, or moved into a different phase of my life and do I need a mug that depicts a particular cartoon character?
I also question why I saved so many little scraps of paper, oddball notes, and knickknacks. Did I think these things were important? Did I foresee a day when I would display such rarities for all the world (or anyone who came into the house) to see? Did I save them solely because they reminded me of someone, or some experience? If that is the case, what do I propose to do with them other than keep them in a box? Saving such items is an emotional process. Each thing ties me to a moment in time. I can remember (most of the time) why these things were important at that time, but are they still? Am I being needlessly nostalgic? If I continue to save these things, do I become that crazy lady with all the junk in her house? Will there be room for new memories and mementos? I have no answers today as I stare at the boxes of stuff about me. If there is anyone out there reading this, do you have any thoughts?
While I do not mean to quote Warren G. Harding, I look about my day and see that things are getting back to normal. Routine-wise. We are still putting things away (or rather talking about how we should put things away), but navigating our lives has become, well, easier. We go to work, teach, research, talk to students, make supper in our own kitchen, do our laundry. (Well, I do our laundry.) It is reassuring and puts my worry-wart tendencies to rest. 