This Thing Called Moving

I’m moving to the Bay Area, California in one month, and just as I have been avoiding packing up my life into boxes and planning out my trip, I have been avoiding this post.  I’ve been avoiding it because writing about it will force me to face reality.  I’ve got one month to move out of the house that I grew up in — pack up what I want to bring and throw out the rest.  I’ve got one month to say bye to all of my friends who I grew up with and all of my relatives who will soon be far away.  I’ve got one month to help prepare the house for when my pop is ready to sell it sometime later this year.  Where do I even begin?  Oh, and if you haven’t figured it out by now, I haven’t got the first clue about moving.

I could sit here all day and list reasons why I don’t want to leave my house… I actually did list them but deleted what I came up with because I realize that’s not what this post is about.  This post is about me admitting that I’m scared.  I’m scared of the unknown.  I’m scared of moving in with someone, even though it’s my boyfriend — the only person I’d ever consider moving in with.  I’m scared of my decision; is this ‘the right decision?’  I’m scared that I’m going to end up hating it.  I’m even scared that I might come across an old memory as I’m packing, which will cause me to breakdown and cry and regret this decision wholeheartedly.

But… This post is also about me coming to terms with my fears.  I’m scared, but I’m doing it anyway.

What happened to all the reasons I had for MAKING this decision in the first place?  Getting away from NJ winters, being surrounded by the great outdoors, living near my nephews as they grow up, etc.  What about all the times I told myself, You will never know until you try… Your family’s got your back… You can always come back to NJ… Why do they all get thrown out the window when the time actually comes to ‘make moves?’ (pun intended) This is the classic case of me settling back into my comfort zone and allowing my fears to make excuses for me.

I met with a few of my former co-workers last week, and we caught up over drinks and french fries.  I told them that my boyfriend and I set the date for our move: May 10th.  One of them, who is now one of my closest friends, said, “Izzy, you have the most integrity out of anyone I know.  Whenever you say you’re going to do something, you fucking do it.”  Damn, that’s a lot of pressure.  Now I have to go through with this whole moving thing.  I blatantly told them, “Honestly, I’m really scared.”  The thought had been manifesting itself in my head, and now it was alive in my words.  I felt relieved to just say it, but then I started to let it get to me.  I started picking fights with my boyfriend, getting defensive when asked about my move, refusing to write about what was going on, and so on.  Of course, then I felt bad for not doing the things that I’m ‘supposed to be’ doing instead, like actually packing, getting rid of stuff, mapping out our road trip, planning get togethers with people, researching Bay Area rent and cost of living, and whatever else people who move do.  I was also getting comfortable in the fact that I ‘didn’t know how to move,’ so I was just avoiding it altogether, but with thirty-one days left before our move out date, I can only avoid the process for so long.

A few weeks ago, my pop said at the dinner table, “It will be sad pulling out of the driveway for the last time.”  I tried to just ignore him because I didn’t want to think about leaving for good.  Obviously, our house has a lot of sentimental value.

It’s 4:30pm right now, and it’s 82 degrees outside — the hottest day of the year so far.  I’ve been in my kitchen trying to put my fears into words for the past three hours, while my pop just stepped outside to enjoy the weather from a bench in the park in front of our house.  I won’t have many opportunities to join him anymore.  What am I still doing at this computer?