Beyond the obvious logistics of there being three thousand miles of ocean between my house here and the one there, I've grown up. When you grow up, you seem to gather a bunch of nonsense. I don't see myself as being materialistic, but man, I got a lot of crap. Some of it does mean something to us. We've got our dining room table, and the couch that everyone loves. Our beds mean a lot to us and we enjoy sitting in front of the plasma t.v. There's some paintings that mean a lot to us, but really none of it means anything.
We could simply get rid of it all, save a few thousand dollars in moving expenses and slowly gather new stuff in Hawai'i. It's not that easy though. The stories that are attached to this stuff, is what makes it important. Some things are easy to get rid of, maybe we don't remember how we got it or don't remember any stories that are associated with it. Other things have been given to us, or we struggled to get it or had a blast doing so. These are the things that we can't just get rid of. If we do, does it mean that we care any less for those involved in why we have it?
Now, obviously, we know that caring for each other doesn't rely on keeping random things that help us remember certain events. In packing, however, I have run across a couple of things that have brought me back to wonderful moments. I found my old letterman's jacket from GHS. I never wear it, but how can I give that up? I found some old photo albums. Pictures of friends and good times that we shared. I've come across Denise's old school work. Papers and projects that she worked so hard on. It's just been a pleasure relearning the past as we prepare for the future.
I guess moving means that life moves on. We're still holding on to it and watching the story unfold. It's the greatest reality show that I've ever seen!
