Optimism and Chotskis

I'm moving again. It's been 5 or 6 years since the last time. The longest I've stayed anywhere, ever. Wow, time flies. I remember the days when I moved 2-3 times a year. Whether it was from college to home for the summer and then to a new dorm at the beginning of the semester, or moving with my parents from apartment to apartment, or from changing jobs and cities, I've been a vagabond. Not that I particularly love the art of wrapping everything in paper towels, newspapers, or magazines (I'm cheap, so whatever is free or easy to come by is my packing "popcorn") and hauling all my crap up and down stairs after begging my friends to work for food - pizza mostly, while fending off a hernia, I've just had the urge to move on.

I kind of relate to the movie, "Chocolat", where the main character moves with the East Wind. It calls to her gypsy nature and says, "time to visit another place...there's much more to see." Maybe I'm an honorary gypsy? Staying in one place too long makes me complacent, which in any normal person is what everyone strives to achieve, a steady happiness or safeguard, but in me, it's a death wish. I can't just settle down and stay...what of all the countries to visit, the people to meet, the stories to tell, the memories to make, and the inspirations that lead to new creations?

I'm sitting here wrapping all my delicate knick knacks in paper towels, studying each one before it's incased in Bounty, reminiscing about where they came from and what they mean to me. I guess the tedious task of making sure everything is packed safely away for transportation gives me the opportunity to truly see everything that I have and to appreciate all the things that I've managed to accomplish. There are so many mementos, but to me, each one is special. A small purple clay chair I bargained for at my very first craft fair, little micro cars that I played with everyday when I was seven, lots of toy devils given to me by the people who know me best, a wooden "tuk-tuk" bought in Thailand during my semester aboard in college, a photo strip of my sister and I sticking our tongues out, and many more colorful keepsakes. Memories are the key to living forever and possibly staying young.

I guess if I get past the annoyance of begging the grocery store employees for their banana boxes, not seeing the sun while stuffing books in overflowing boxes, sneezing from the accumulation of all the dust I missed in my last "room cleaning", and the general, "oh crap, where do I even begin?!", moving isn't so bad. It allows me to "spring clean" and rearrange my furniture in my new place. I get to experience different coffee shops and restaurants, drive 15 minutes to work instead of an hour and 20 minutes, sleep in a little or rather get up and exercise, have my friends visit me at home (because to them, driving to the west side is "far"), explore a different place, and create new memories.

Hum, I intended to write this blog on how much I hate moving, but I guess when my figurative pen hit the paper, my true opinions came to light. There is of course a silver lining to everything, but I just figured I was forever the pessimist when not combated by someone else's dark thoughts (then I turn to an optimist because really, someone has to debate the other side), but I guess optimism snuck up on me. Strange...I guess with this new move, I'm subconsciously changing as well. Maybe that's what they call maturing?

Anyhow, I'm turning into a procrastinator, sneaking away to write while half my shelves still have chotskis on them, but hey, everyone needs a break now and then.