Written by Eileen Nittler
I have to put my fear somewhere.
If I focus on all I will lose in the move, I will never finish packing. So I box the fear, the worry, the losses that are inherent in relocation, and I set my sights on adventure and novelty.
Change is exciting. True. It keeps us from stagnating. Also true. And change is hard, always. This is a planned move, it’s a wise move, but that doesn’t make it easy.
It’s not hard to start packing—you keep in mind the excitement of a new place while sorting through junk and treasures. The first drawer is a delight. The first trip to the thrift store is a thrill. I recycled a small mountain of old paperwork, ten years worth of unneeded yogurt containers, 16 half-empty gallons of touch-up paint for rooms that were already two layers of color different. We gave art to an auction, to a friend, to a brother. We gave clothing to a homeless shelter, and canning jars to a neighbor.
Then the slog began, as we worked our way methodically through the kitchen goods, mittens, books, children’s artworks, favorite blankets, the comfortable-but-really-beat-up chair.
Now we’re in the last stages and the conversations are so much harder. Do we keep the sympathy cards from our son’s funeral from nine years ago? Yes, well maybe not, well, maybe…maybe only from the people in our families? Or the ones that made us feel better?
Put them in that box labeled fear.
I was told once it is irresponsible to put out bird feeders if you can’t commit to keeping them up in the winter. Now in April, I’m anticipating a cold and hungry time for the birds I’ve fed and nurtured for two decades (not the same birds the whole time, I know) as I pack up feeders and bird baths. If I worry about the hummingbirds, I worry less about myself.
I add that to the fear box, which looks a lot bigger than it did a week ago. I didn’t know it could grow.
I look forward to so many things—I’ll be closer to my daughter. There is less rain than in Oregon. I crave novelty. I get to decorate a new house. This box is infinite as well. As a matter of fact, it grows and shrinks in opposition to the fear box.
I will remove the last hummingbird feeder later this week, and know that the birds will survive without me. I worry nonetheless, but this one last piece of fear might be bigger than the moving truck, and will just have to stay here.
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Eileen Nittler retired from a long career in social work and found her creative side. She’s been published in Oregon Humanities, and is in the process of moving to Montana, which is equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.