Boxes piled high, bags packed.

Clothes stuffed and crinkled, not folded, just wrinkled.

Scarves thrown on top carelessly, seductive in their silkiness, kissing tattered pages of the books I always hoped I’d read.

A whole life in 17 boxes.

What about the things I can’t put in a box?

The feelings, the bittersweet memories, the exquisite experiences, the days so painful I wish I could forget?

Emotions come strongly, like twisting tornados in my chest.

I can’t go pleasantly numb or zone out like a zombie.

My whole life stands before me, in my hands and in my soul.

The art of touching every single item I own, deciding whether to keep it, where to place it and listening to see which box calls out it’s name—is exhausting.

Every item contains an imprint of a memory.

Every long, flowing apricot-colored scarf and pair of ripped blue jeans and piece of broken costume jewelry sends a shiver through my spine. An echo through my heart.

How many lives have I led? How many chapters have there been?

Things bloom and burn away so quickly; it’s hard to keep track of all that has been, all that is, and all that we hope will be.

It’s nice to stop, to pause, for a precious second; to digest and take it all in.

Frozen time.

Icicle seconds never tick, in this hollow, strange in-between.

Memories fly around like snowflakes, sparkly and chilly on my skin, like January. Icicles of past moments melt as cool drops of water land on my tongue with a splash, a slow-motion tribute to who I used to be.

There is so much to keep, to hold close, to cherish and yet there is so much I can’t hang on to.

I have to let go.

To relinquish the warm glow of the past: the beauty, the pain, the wonder, the shame, the stinging sweetness.

I have to make space for something new.

Something more delicious.

It hurts. It’s freeing. It’s beautiful. It’s satisfying. It’s messy as f*ck.

This is life: staying still, peering into the past, and moving forward—all at the same time.

Always shifting, like a wicked little merry-go-round.

We’re always navigating the threshold of some long-awaited transition, a top-secret destination, an intangible location.

A surprising journey unfolds before our eyes like a golden carpet, daily.

And so, these thoughts billow from my brain and form thick clouds of silvery smoke that swirl around my hair.

I return to my breath.

The rapid rise and fall of my chest.

Rise and fall.

Inhale and exhale.

My breath anchors me.

It holds me, as I fall face-first into the unknown.

~

Relephant:

She Let Go.

9 Simple Steps to Make Moving a Breeze. 

Author: Sarah Harvey

Editor: Ashleigh Hitchcock

Photo: Flickr/Martinak15