Moving is miserable. In part because it just is. And because I’m a legitimate pack-rat with a vivid memory, moving becomes a long and emotional process. I have SO much that many would consider trash – receipts, ticket stubs, cards, knickknacks…and they all bring back a flood of memories that very nearly pushes me over the edge. It’s a long process.
The other day I was sitting on my couch looking at a bare corner of my apartment. And oddly enough I was transported back to the spring of 2000. I was a sophomore in college, and had just finished a difficult semester that focused around the conclusion of organic chemistry. “Orgo,” as we called it, is the ultimate weed-out class. Some huge number of first-year college students start off as pre-med, but orgo somehow manages to make a lot of students change their mind.
Chemistry didn’t come easily to me; I really had to work at it. I did alright the first semester, but the second was too much. I got a C, and I was crushed. And as I was packing up my things for summer break I remember seeing my orgo book on the floor. And I looked at that weighty book and had such an overwhelming feeling of disappointment. I felt like I hadn’t reached my potential, and that more of me was left to give. I felt genuine failure.
I had a similar feeling in high school after a disappointing loss to one of our rivals in a big lacrosse game. We could have won – should have – but somehow it got away from us. I remember driving by that field several hours later, thinking to myself that this place was full of such hope, such excitement, and such joy just a few hours ago. And yet now…emptiness. It was incomplete.
I am moving for all the right reasons. Happiness, excitement, and joy are all at the other end. And in no way do I have any regrets about that. But still, when I look specifically at my apartment I get a sense of failure. The marriage, the relationships, the hope for a family – none of the things that I wanted before I moved there happened. And while the joy I have now wouldn’t be possible save for that failure, when I stand in my living room and see the empty walls and scattered furniture, the negativity is all I feel.
It’s time to move.
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"We have to make our own mistakes. We have to learn our own lessons. We have to sweep today’s possibility under tomorrow’s rug until we can’t anymore. Until we finally understand for ourselves that knowing is better than wondering, that waking is better than sleeping, and even the biggest failure, even the worst, beat the hell out of never trying"
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