Yesterday, I crouched on a small stool in the thick air of my garage surrounded by a hundred boxes pulled from the attic. The stool, painted with the words from a nursery rhyme, was pulled out of a dented cardboard box labeled Harrison’s Nursery in black marker. We’re moving to England in two months, sorting through a lifetime of memories. My son, now a teenager, is deciding which boxes stay in storage or ship on the crate. An international move forces the determination of value and the definition of priceless when convenience is no longer an option.
While I’m creating small stacks of preschool artwork as mementos from an era, my daughter’s graduation from high school is imminent. In twelve weeks, we move her into a dorm room one state away from our temporary house. Each item in her bedroom is a decision. What must be boxed and stored, taken with her to college, given away or discarded. Choices she didn’t plan on making after she moves the tassel to the left. I didn’t anticipate them either. The same way I didn’t plan on watching my husband leave for work in blue jeans with a stack of boxes and packing tape.
What do I do with the hundreds of books on the shelves in my office? He asks of me, a writer, this impossible question. His job and paycheck end in a few weeks. For someone who requires certainty, the unknowns of the future for me can be a test of inner peace.
Join me at Art House America Blog for a bit of a vulnerable glimpse into our move to England. I’m sharing about the surprise of rest and how it keeps me steady on some of those days filled with anxiety. Click here and join me, yes? It’s my first time among their beautiful writers and it’d be nice to see your familiar face and voice in the comments.