A Life Packed in Cardboard Boxes

For the sixth time since 2007 moving to a new place is in my future. Clothing and trinkets will be boxed and packed, queen sized mattress and box spring will get heaved and hoed, and I will once again inhabit a new and unfamiliar space. If my math is correct, in approximately eight months this process will repeat itself again. I wonder if I should even bother taking my possessions out of the cardboard boxes this time?

Probably not, but I will anyway. Once again, I will find a new sunny but not too sunny spot for my bamboo plant, I will conscientiously set up my music recording gear against an unshared wall, I will have a new Trader Joe's to get to know, and I will have new and unfamiliar running loops to conquer.

It's not so bad having to move all of the time, though having my life packed away in cardboard boxes isn't ideal, I'm glad to have a life I can pack away. Every time I wrap up my wood carved Bob Marley head I think of my friend Danny. When I carefully slide family pictures in between folded t-shirts I think of prime rib, potatoes, and Christmas. When I put my baseball glove into a shoebox I think of those happy Little League days, and when I put my guitar into it's case I think of the new music we will be making together in a new place.

It isn't so bad having my life packed away in cardboard boxes. When I pack my knick-knacks away it helps me keep my past real and regularly thought about, and when I take my knick-knacks back out it refreshes my spirit with thoughts of new things to come and new memories to be made.

A life packed in cardboard boxes, though difficult and more often than not frustrating, is my life right now. I honor that, however I don't accept it. I hope one day I will get the chance to establish a more permanent spot, but until that day, I will continue to enjoy the reflections that packing and unpacking cardboard boxes gives to this first world nomad.