I am moving apartments.
Believe me, I wasn’t excited about it. I hired a couple of people to do my packing. Why? My place at one time or another looked like this:
But mine were in bookshelves.
Still, imagine packing twice, maybe three times that.
Ok, you get the picture. Over the years, I have accumulated a lot of books. They offer comfort, understanding, peace and well….knowledge.
Books are to me, what shoes are to Carrie Bradshaw.
In this move, I have 65 boxes and cartons. All books and periodicals, magazines. I am not one for love or fiction books. Although I have a couple by Jeffrey Archer (Kane and Abel and The Prodigal Daughter) and Dan Brown ( Da Vinci Code) where through its media buzz, made me buy and read it.
I have a lot of cookbooks. Of course.
I also have marketing, sales and psychology books. Sssseeeelllllf Heeeelp (don’t shoot me) and Christian/Religious Books have been staple read for years. Recently I have nutrition and wellness ones . Gosh, I am uncomfortable discussing this. It’s like I am describing to you what I have in my goodie drawer.
I want to get rid of them. I feel like I have gotten what I want from them and now its all mute. Truly confusing time, this is. Again, it is whispered, from chaos, get it in order. Speak your truth, my truth. I do not want these anymore.
Want do I want? I want to live what these books and papers say. It is all in me, with me, as me. Been doing a lot of armchair living I see. No more. Making this move has not be a breeze. Not like in my coming here 2 years ago. Now I understand why. Had this been easy, with a herd of helpers sweeping and carrying stuff, it would have been easy. They would be bringing all my crap, just throwing everything in the boxes and taking it out in the truck. Then I would just be carrying it to the new apartment.
This time I have to be selective. Not everything comes with me inside. Most of the stuff will be in storage for a while until I can sort them all out. It has to be this way. I cannot keep them, they are not mine anymore.