I’m currently sitting in a protective circle of boxes, a cardboard wagon train blocking out the hostile wilds that surround me. Though the stuff in the boxes in proving less of security and more of a burden. I know in reality I have reduced the amount of stuff I own by at least 20% in the last few months, but apparently that isn’t enough to reach a visual tipping point where less seems less.
So why the box fortress? Short answer: I’m moving. Long answer: I’m ready to move. The emphisis on the “I’m” part of the statement. For the first time ever there is no external locus involved. No relationship, no financial imperative, no emotional motivation or manipulation, just a desire to be somewhere that mends. I have a history of running, as the song says “runnings the thing I’ve always done”, the problem with that is eventually you will get tired. I’m very tired.
Five years of running will make you tired, and in my case I also chose to spend a lot of that time angry too. Angry is ok, nothing wrong with a bit of angry. It gets the blood going, focuses the mind and reminds you that you are not quite ready to go gentle into that good night. I’ve been angry at quite a few people, some even deserved me being considerably more angry than I was. However a few times I let the anger make me cruel, and that’s the memory that’s hard to live with. You can’t apologize for cruelty, there is no forgiveness. You can’t erase cruelty, but you can make amens.
So I will meditate on the purity of cardboard and satisfaction that comes from occasionally popping some bubble wrap as you pack.
Seriously though, bubble wrap is the tactile equivalent of Pringles..