Forty-Two

I have been packing all week. Choosing and packing and throwing away and choosing again. It was very exhausting, especially making the choices of what will come and what will go was difficult. Interestingly, I could let go of many things that two months ago – when I was doing the same in the old house in Austria – or even last week, I found indispensable.

The weekend before last, I met a Canadian who has done the same thing as I am doing – he left everything because he wanted to live in Germany. He also got rid of lots of things and describes the feeling as cathartic, and yes, it truly is.

an empty roomSo, this morning the moving company came to pick up what I could not leave behind. In the end it turned out that all possessions of my life, accumulated in its thirty-eight years (including a few random bits and pieces of my family), all of the things I apparently need to feel a sense of home and belonging, amount to eight cubic meters. Recall that what I brought from Austria a couple of months ago measured twelve cubic meters, and that was not counting anything I had in my apartment here. So I think I did a good job of letting go, for now at least, and it does feel liberating.

 

Somewhat at least.

Thinking that all my life for what it’s worth fits into 41 boxes and a suitcase…

I’m either a hero or a loser. Take your pick.

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