Michelle Kaplan

A Moving Experience

There comes a time in your life when you have to face facts. You’re not as young as you think you are. There’s no such thing as Santa Clause, the tooth fairy, or catching up on your sleep… and moving is a bitch.

If you really want to face your true demons, pack up and move. For me this was move number 25, or so…the early 90’s are a little foggy. You’d think I’d learn a thing or two about being prepared, but no. Again I was furiously packing boxes while the movers were hauling out furniture. And as much as you hear, “if you haven’t used it, worn it or seen it in a year, throw it out,” I still save crap…and really that’s what it is.

I literally came across boxes unopened from two moves ago. I should not have even opened them. I could have taken that sealed box and dumped it. Let’s face it, whatever was in there I certainly have done without…but no, I opened it. Taped it back up and took it with me to place of residence number 25. By the way Jimmy Hoffa says
hello.
I do admit I’m a good packer. Nothing ever breaks on the move. That’s probably how I’ve managed to accumulate so much stuff. Things do however break after you go through the trouble of packing and unpacking, that’s when if happens…that’s Murphy’s Law, I’m sure it’s one of them.

Moving day is Hell. You can hardly sleep the night before because you know you missed something. All day long is that awkward feeling of being in between residences, not quite knowing your way around, wondering just where is your local Starbucks (that is on every other corner in North America), worrying that you may never find your clean underwear again. If you’re partnered this is make or break, my friend. Get though this and you may really have someone special in your life. Unless that special someone breaks the cardinal rule of trying to speak to you during the move. Then run. The basic form of proper moving communication is grunting. Pick up box, grunt. Lift box grunt, walk by partner, nod, grunt and keep moving. DO NOT ask anything that starts like this, “Honey, have you seen the…this is not just grounds
for a legal separation but an automatic restraining order.

Mid-move the crazy sets in. You just want it over. That overwhelming feeling starts. This is where the five stages of moving begins…oddly it is the same as Kubler- Ross’ stages of Death:
Denial – This move is not happening
Anger - Why do I have to move?
Bargaining – Next time I move I promise to be better prepared. I promise to throw away all this stuff.
Depression – I can’t do this anymore. I don’t care.
Acceptance – This move is happening there are movers here and stuff in boxes and we are now leaving for the new place.

Finally the half-way point. The unload. The turning point. This is also closely proceeds the “I almost cried phase.” Things go faster, it’s psychological. Because you don’t already know where everything goes, then the things that aren’t put away are not really out of place. Go think on that one for a while. The pseudo end. You pay the movers, choke that the cost is almost double the estimate, but are grateful to see the strangers out of your house. This is also where you find the things they took apart and never put back together and find pieces of stuff and broken things. But you look around feeling strangely secure. You and yours are all present and accounted for.

United.

Under one roof.

Under God.

The strange secure feeling soon gives way to that awkwardness. Things begin to get put away. Paths are cleared through caverns of boxes. You awake the next morning. You’re achy. As you open your eyes, you have that single moment that you don’t quite know where you are. It passes. Morning coffee awaits. The day is spent putting more away. Finding new places for old stuff. Back to work you go. You have to leave your new place just as you’re in the bonding phase. This ends one of two ways. If you’ve moved a good many times, you go to back work in clean underwear.

The rookies well…thank God for 24-hour Wal-Mart.