My Life Is In Boxes

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.