Moving is a traumatic experience. Humans move because we need to to find a better space, because our partners have died/left us, because of financial loss or gain and because something calls our name out from the hobbit hole. For the past two weeks I have been slowly moving my possessions from one life to another. I am moving for more space, a new space, and because I fell in love with the most wonderful woman. Moving is still traumatic.
I have moved my stuff and things a total of 14 times in the past 40 years. In the early days I felt like I had too little, and I was sad to ask a shipper to move a mattress, 36 books and a hard case full of clothing. Yesterday, I had two young men hired to move 22 boxes of books, a granite table, three coffee table, a bed, and enough music equipment to start my own Motown recording studio. Now I am embarrassed about having too much; about owning too much of the same thing (4 keyboards, 6 guitars, 3 computers, 8 cameras). Balance seems impossible to find.
Still, as I sit in reflection after yesterday’s onslaught and personal temper tantrum when items were lost and a ladder would not fold, I cannot help but be thankful that I am not alone, that I made friends such as Marcos and Derek at the building who were genuinely sad to see us leave, and am thankful to be in such a great place to begin the next step in my crazy life.
Photography has come to a standstill as I have had to pack my gear into a hundred boxes. The film negatives from the summer are still to be scanned and transformed into a wedding book and entries to photo contests this Fall. Paderno is sending along forty items to be shot this week, and I am looking forward to photographing Darren Eedens soon. Now…time to leave the safety of the bar at Canyon Creek and enter the cacophony awaiting me at The Brock Lofts. Time to level up, again. Game on.