On Procrastination, and Moving, and Such
I think I need to admit, once and for all, that I don't enjoy moving. I need to admit that I cannot have a stress-free move if I have as much stuff as I do - and it's not like I have that much. And, if I want to keep the amount of stuff that I have (which I don't, but I seem to act as if I do), then moving will cost more, especially when I live someplace where I don't know anybody, let alone somebody with a truck.
I've just recently gotten over a lifelong character flaw: beating myself up over my constant, egregious procrastination. One day I asked myself, quite zenlike, "what exactly is it that I have to do that's so important I can't sit around for another hour reading Harry Potter?" And the answer was nothing. And that nasty self-flagellation simply evaporated into so much self-absorbed freedom.
But now that I'm faced with an actual task with an actual deadline, I'm resisting. It's no coincidence that I revived my last gasp of a work blog at the same time I'm supposed to be coordinating a move.
I've moved every year - sometimes twice - since 1996. This has taught me three things about myself. One, I'm never satisfied. Two, I don't like being told what to do and when to do it (i.e., "you have to be out by the first of the month"), which is probably the sole reason I wrote off journalism as a career. And three, I hate having lots of stuff.
However, each has a counterpoint. One, I may find a problem with every place I live (loud neighbors, usually), but I generally don't try hard enough to find a place where this definitely won't be a problem. Two, the only person I hurt by putting off packing, cleaning, and getting rid of stuff is myself. Three, I love having a big, heavy, comfortable sofa - a place just doesn't feel like home without it. How do I reconcile that with the compulsion to fit everything I own in the boot of my car?
One more thing I've learned this year, and Clevelanders take note: not every place has an abundance of thrift stores, period, let alone thrift stores willing to take your old furniture. When you live someplace where the median family income is over $100,000, there is an unsurprising lack of thrift stores. The moral of the story: I should have gotten rid of more stuff when I had a place to unload it. Yet another reason why you are so much, much, more lucky than I!
I've just recently gotten over a lifelong character flaw: beating myself up over my constant, egregious procrastination. One day I asked myself, quite zenlike, "what exactly is it that I have to do that's so important I can't sit around for another hour reading Harry Potter?" And the answer was nothing. And that nasty self-flagellation simply evaporated into so much self-absorbed freedom.
But now that I'm faced with an actual task with an actual deadline, I'm resisting. It's no coincidence that I revived my last gasp of a work blog at the same time I'm supposed to be coordinating a move.
I've moved every year - sometimes twice - since 1996. This has taught me three things about myself. One, I'm never satisfied. Two, I don't like being told what to do and when to do it (i.e., "you have to be out by the first of the month"), which is probably the sole reason I wrote off journalism as a career. And three, I hate having lots of stuff.
However, each has a counterpoint. One, I may find a problem with every place I live (loud neighbors, usually), but I generally don't try hard enough to find a place where this definitely won't be a problem. Two, the only person I hurt by putting off packing, cleaning, and getting rid of stuff is myself. Three, I love having a big, heavy, comfortable sofa - a place just doesn't feel like home without it. How do I reconcile that with the compulsion to fit everything I own in the boot of my car?
One more thing I've learned this year, and Clevelanders take note: not every place has an abundance of thrift stores, period, let alone thrift stores willing to take your old furniture. When you live someplace where the median family income is over $100,000, there is an unsurprising lack of thrift stores. The moral of the story: I should have gotten rid of more stuff when I had a place to unload it. Yet another reason why you are so much, much, more lucky than I!
posted by Christine Borne at 7:43 PM
1 Comments:
Monmouth County SPCA has a thrift called Cats & Dogs. And there's MONARC's in Red Bank. My mom has had a lot of luck with Freecycle. But NJ is really a garage sale kind of place for getting rid of stuff.
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