Moving (Isabella) Blows

I’m sorry I’ve been so MIA on the BSB front. I’ve been overwhelmed by boxes. In fact, I’ve been overwhelmed by boxes for the last ten years. I just counted on my hang-nailed, jagged and cut up fingers that I’ve moved six times in these last ten years. I’m thoroughly, totally and completely exhausted from the inside of my guts to the tips of my hair.

I found a list that says moving is the #3 stressor in life. I’m now seriously surprised I’m still alive.

What does moving have to do with style? Of course nothing and everything.

I wake up at 6:00 a.m., throw on my ACNE jeans and a tank that doesn’t smell like “struggle” and walk through the silent Santa Monica hills with my dog, Murray. My body aches, my head worse. After picking up his poop and heading home, I down two cups of coffee, grab my box cutter and start a task that won’t be over for months.

Unpacking is like a daily 10 hour meditation on possessions. Except after the meditation, there’s no relief. All day long I unwrap, look at, contemplate and decide the fate of the thing I’m holding.

I have a mom that doesn’t throw anything away. This includes expired food in the refrigerator. Not only does she not throw anything away, she places emotional significance on what she keeps, including the moldy cream cheese. It turns out I’m a lot like my mom.

When you see the contents of your life unboxed and piled about a sunny room it can take you to dark places. Contents and things, regardless of their brand or value, are just things until they’re handled with care and made to look beautiful in their environment and in your life. Months will be spent putting my things just so, so they don’t look like things anymore, but objects worth cherishing and passing on to those I love.

And if I have any sense of humor left in me, I take comfort in this: There’s a list, and I’m on it. It may not be best dressed list, but at least it’s best stressed. I’m number three!