Moving is insanely stressful. It’s time-consuming, costs a lot, and is just upsetting half the time. The main thing I hate about it is not having my books everywhere around me. It’s depressing and I hate having to put them in to boxes where anything might happen to them. Maybe that’s just me (it’s totally not just me), but having my books around me is a comfort – at home feeling – kinda thing.
Yesterday my housemates and I signed the lease on our new property and we’re relocating to a totally new area of the city. Only one of us has seen the property, and it’s smaller than where we’re living now. It’s daunting, and knowing I have a lot of books that I dearly love (and can’t fit on to the shelves I currently own) I’m concerned about how much we’re downsizing…again. Which isn’t to say I’m unhappy about downsizing. In reality we have too many possessions. We love things and use people and it should be the other way around. As humans we’re constantly competing to beat Mr and Mrs Jones next door – to have the bigger house, the better children, the more manicured lawn. For a poor “Millennial” trying to fight the system, downsizing is awesome.
I began packing boxes last night and 5 boxes in I realised that despite downsizing in our last move, I still own A LOT of stuff. But almost all of it serves a purpose and I love and use almost all of it. The one big thing that takes up the most space is my books. Things I will never get rid of because of the joy and comfort they bring me. “Why not get an e-reader?” I hear you ask! Well, because I already have one. But anyone who has ever been intoxicated by vellichor or known the love of a great page turning book would know, e-readers simply aren’t the same as the real thing. Sure, they’re portable, lighter and can carry a library on an insanely light 200g device, and these days most of them allow you to read in the dark without a light… but it’s not a book.
I know I’m going to have to downsize again, and I’m honestly struggling with the concept. My few DVDs I can probably ship to my mother’s house in South Australia. My clothes I need to sort through once more to see what still fits, what I still love and what is Melbourne-weather appropriate. But my books… They still pose the greatest space, weight, and effort challenge. They’re they one thing I hold sentimental attachment to. They’re the one thing I own that will out live me but never outlive my love for them. I may just have to throw my bed out to make room for them, to be honest.
That being said, I’m thrilled to be moving. Our current tenancy has been rife with mishap, calling our real estate agent time and time again with little to no effect, and we’re over it. Dealing with the new agency yesterday was a bizarre experience. The realtor was competent, efficient, and was very knowledgeable about the property and the landlord. We were flummoxed at her competency, given our experiences up to this point had been dismal. So onward we move, literally and figuratively. The next two weeks will be rife with packing, organising, trying to find safe spaces to pack and stack the boxes. We’re in for quite a haul.
Until next time my friends, stay silly. xx