My ‘will and trust’ is packed in a box to be placed in storage. The box isn’t marked. It’s stored with a bunch of other stuff I won’t need ‘immediately.’ To find it will be like that last scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark where the ark is stored in a crate along with thousands of crates that all look the same. Or like the joke where two fools find a great fishing spot in the middle of a lake and one marks the bottom of the boat so that they can find it again. The whole experience is unsettling. That’s a good thing.
Tent dwellers downsize. I’m temporarily here. Campers don’t stay in one place for very long; bad weather and policemen make you move. I’m moving the book collection, the Vinyl, the CD’s, stamp collection, the miscellaneous paper files and five plastic tubs filled with photos. I want easy access to this stuff. Placing it in storage feels like it’s gone.
The Santa Ana river bed runs through Anaheim and out to the ocean. A bike path follows the river. A small city of tents has cropped up along the bike path; wall-to-wall tents next to Angel Stadium. I don’t know anything about the tenants. I suspect they can’t afford regular housing. I suspect they didn’t wrestle with moving a book collection. One thing we have in common is that we temporarily dwell in earthen vessels.
Change is difficult. Downsizing can be tough. But it’s a blessing when the packing and moving is an option and not a necessity; when the new real estate is a bonus and the options are all positive options. I’m not boxing up my life. I’m boxing up my stuff. I’m living my life—and that often involves choosing change.