A Cycle of Cardboard

It its safe to say that in recent weeks my life has become a cycle of pack a box, unpack a box, put box in car and take to be recycled. It is something of a chore, but it is a good feeling to see a new life unfurl. 

Maisie cat, scaling the heights

For anyone who has ever moved home then you will know what I mean when I say, stress, mess and a lot of sleepless nights. I have moved a couple of times before and, aside from flitting from my parents into my first home when all I had was a TV and a Christmas tree, I know how much time it takes to pack up your life, shove it all in a van and hope it arrives at the other end unscathed. 

This time I was downsizing from a life of three to two. By the time I had actually signed on the dotted line and paid the deposit I had spent three months of evenings (when the child was in bed as, apparently, its great fun un-packing everything when mummy had just packed it) sorting, eBaying, packing and brutally culling the endless cupboards and drawers (and a sizeable garage) that seemed to have amassed such a load of rubbish in my 10 years of ownership. I donated to charity boxes of crockery that were still boxed up from our last moved. Full sets of dinner plates, serving platters, cups and saucers in a curiously late 90's print, never to be used again. I even found a box of old drinking glasses still in their wrapping paper. Broken when they arrived, shattered when they left. 

Train to Germany, 1991

I spent hours going through a box of CD's that were cold and damp, their paper inserts curled and tatty from being read so many times. I came across albums that I had thought so great on their release and some that still held such a special meaning to me. Carefully they were alphabetised and put into storage boxes. Ready to be put in a new corner of a new loft. 

There were boxes of photographs, of good friends, old friends and boyfriends past. There were school trips, teenage nights out, first festivals, first jobs, weddings and babies just born.

I am practically on first name terms with the council workers who run my local tip. Every Wednesday for weeks I have loaded my car, sorted my rubbish in to landfill or recycle (more of the latter thank goodness) and exchanged pleasantries with them while they look at me in a slightly bemused manner, surely wondering how much more stuff I have to get rid of. 

To say that packing up ones life is a cathartic experience is an underestimation. It has a soul cleansing feeling. Out with the old and unused and in with only the things you need. 

Good-bye a-ha, 2010

I have been in my cosy new place for a few weeks now and my stress levels have dropped dramatically. Yes, I have bought new things, of course I have but I am relishing my new life without ten sets of everything. I can't believe that I had rice cookers, pasta cookers, a variety of blenders, even a box of logs in the garage (presumably a hangover from my ex-husband who thought they might come in handy one day) all gathering dust and spider webs, all doing absolutely nothing. 

I still have boxes here and there. After 6 weeks of not knowing what is in them, I can probably say that I can live with out them. Whatever they may be.