It’s not the hassle of packing all my things and in a short while unpacking them and arrange them in order that gets to me. In particular, I don’t care about the nuisance of cleaning and filling up things in boxes. It’s not the physical effort and pain in moving the heavy boxes up flights of stairs either. I couldn’t care less about it. I love the physical demands. This what all those hours in the gym are for right? To actually help in real life scenarios such as moving day and not just so a woman doesn’t involuntarily vomit when you take your shirt off.
What I really hate is missing the old place. The familiar place. The perfect place that was so imperfect in so many ways, yet I learned to love it. Love the annoying facts about it. Annoying neighbors who I never liked, yet now I feel like they are a part of me and I need them and their idiosyncrasies.No matter how badly I wanted to move, come moving day, I feel I could have made this place work.
In reality, What I really feel is not love for the old place but the anxiety for the new. The fear of the unknown. The fear of change. Fear of what if this place is worse than the old. What if I made a mistake. What if it’ll cost me way more to maintain than I calculated. What if my new neighbors are thieves and perverts. Worse, what if they are annoyingly extra nice?
But the truth is that it’s all in our minds. It’s our resistance to change. Fear of leaving the known. All we need to do is to embrace and hang on. You will find way more imperfections than you imagined. Because you’re just discovering them.They’ll seem monumental.But soon you’ll learn to live with them.Start to love them. Miss them when they are gone. The old being replaced by the new, only to become the old. And soon enough the day will come when you will have to move again. And you’ll be just as anxious to leave as you did the first time.