By Erica

Moving is one of life’s more traumatic experiences. It was not great when we were young, but then we were only talking a decade or less. Our youth. Now, it's our whole lives all laid out in one place. 

We are in awe, but also a bit jealous, of friends who have moved multiple times. In awe because of the brain numbing logistics, but jealous that the detritus of friends’ lives has probably been discarded along the way.  We, on the other hand, have moved infrequently—and in the process acquired more space and more stuff to put in it. 

And then, we move. From our home for almost twenty-five years. Where we raised a daughter and our family congregated. Where people now gone were at their finest. Where we were comfortable being together. Where good conversations—and not so good but life-altering—happened. In that chair. In that room. Where we were at our most sad and our most happy. Leaving. Really hard.

But it’s time. We don’t want to be the people who hang on a little too long. We don’t want to be the people who can’t move on. And most of all, we aren’t the people who can love and care for this home in the way we always have. Too much time. Not the way we want to spend it now.

We are a bit at odds about the move, to be frank. One is not exactly ready. Or at least he says he’s not. But actions say otherwise. And so we take the plunge. We buy something new. In a city. Where we together have never really lived.

I looked for years. Downtown, where I spent my younger years. Did I want to go back? Loved it, and loved the food, but didn’t feel daytime right now. Way uptown didn’t feel right either. So a bit in between. Big like the house? Or small and open floor plan like the beach? Thought initially that space like the former and open like the latter was the way to go. But over time realized that smaller, but with doors and private spaces, was how we really live. Old versus new. Modern versus something else. How important is a kitchen? An island? Kitchen yes, island no. We decided. We chose. I agonized, wondering whether we had made a bad decision.

We lived with movers for over a week. Discard this. Store that (relatively very little). Sell some. And move the rest. Turns out we largely got it right. Except for photographs. We took them all. We will have a holiday picture party with the kids….they can laugh at us and take what they want. And books. We thought we had been judicious. We don’t have room. Had to discard more than a dozen boxes of them more after we moved. Thankfully, our new doormen have relatives who read. And then there are the shoes. So many shoes. We unpacked over 200 boxes in two days and felt very accomplished. 

Though our clothes are still a bit everywhere, with the help of a sister the kitchen is pretty organized, ready for holidays. Renovations, changes, decorating to come. We thought we would go slow. But no, we want to get it done.

And we will. And we are still a little sad. But largely happy. Because it’s new and it’s fun. And we have no plans to ever do this again!