Packing

A few years ago a friend was preparing for a move and sent an email to a bunch of us that said, ‘Is there anything worse than packing?’

We agreed. Yes. Indeed it is an aggravating task.

My move is scheduled for Thursday. My mom came in to help last week. While she packed up the kitchen I started going through my desk.

“No one ever goes through their desk unless they’re moving,” she said.

She came back this weekend to help. Once inside my apartment she looked around.

“Have you done anything since I was last here?” she said.

We went for brunch and furniture shopping. Later, back at the apartment, she wanted to help but I realized that the rest of the packing was a matter of choices. It would take as much or conceivably less time if I tackled it alone. So I sent her home and got down to work.

And I realized a funny thing as I did.

Packing does, on one level, suck. It is tedious and unsettling. But at the same time there's something cool about it. How often does one get to take the myriad material symbols of a life, stick them into boxes, and think about not only what is left behind but what lies ahead?

I can think of worse things to do with one's time.