Monday, October 4, 2010
When Chris and I moved here we spent three days packing up our one bedroom apartment into a small part of a big moving truck. We'll call that 'phase 1'.
Once that truck arrived here on the East Coast we just piled that old life into a shed in my mothers back yard and forgot about it ('phase 2'). We were tired of schlepping anonymous boxes of stuff, truly annoyed by our possessions.
It's October now and most of our gear has been in those boxes since last February. We drove to the Cape this Spring armed with the essentials, never really looking back on the awful, pending task of unpacking and organizing all of our stuff.
Well, you've got to pay the piper sooner or later. For Chris and I that payment will come in installments. We are borrowing a home, furniture, appliances, decor etcetera for the time being. We do not have to unpack those things. We do have to move them. We have overstayed our welcome in the shed and everything, our whole little apartments worth of cardboard boxes, packing tape and bubble wrap has to be moved, once again, to an actual storage unit (phase 3).
In addition, boxes of cold, foggy, typical SF weather clothing that we have had no use for in the heat of East Coast summer have to be unpacked. This past weekend my mom drove up from RI with a carload of those boxes (phase 3 cont...).
I haven't really thought twice about leaving San Francisco since our arrival here until I started pulling those boxes out of the car and peering into the past. It seems weird that a bunch of old clothes might cause one to wax nostalgic, but that's exactly what happened. All of a sudden I got a little sad.
I started looking through all those folded pieces of a wardrobe that defined me in a different life. Me managing a fantastic, vibrant, busy restaurant in the heart of a beautiful city, or running through the Presidio watching the sun come up over Chrissy Field and feeling so incredibly lucky to be a part of such an amazing community. Me meeting wonderful friends for coffee, drinks or dinner, or driving to the ferry building farmers market early every Saturday morning anticipating all the tempting treats on offer. Me, in my warm little apartment, cooking dinner, watching tv, reading on the couch, doing laundry, living my life.
I know that our decision to move was the right one at the right time. I'm not sad because I regret a thing. I'm just a little envious of the life I had. It takes time to 'get a life'. We haven't been here long and I'm not the most patient person. I want to look into my closet and see me here with a great job, friends and a place to call my own. I hope that, eventually, new clothes will take the place of the past and reflect a new life that is all mine once again. I think that will be the final phase.