I decided to stay

Whew! I have finally unpacked!

From a weekend getaway?
In your dreams!

From Christmas break?
No; that was weeks ago.

From a recent move?
Not yet!

So, what other reason could have me unpacking? If only I could afford a psychiatric visit, I’m sure this story would reveal volumes about me. Lacking the funds to do so, I’ll just the pass the story on to you.

When I moved to Lynchburg in July 2006 I packed up the entire house (or what was left of it after the yard sale), and moved into an apartment. After my family helped me unload furniture, they left for North Carolina, and I faced the task of unpacking about 500 boxes of stuff (or so it seemed). I unpacked for days–in between emotional outbursts of "what am I doing?"–tackling a room at a time; and, after almost a week, I was settled.....except

There were four boxes that I just couldn’t find the time or energy to unpack. They were important, but they were not priorities. At first I avoided them because I was just so sick of the chore of unpacking. They were moved to my bedroom and stacked away in a corner. Then classes started and–as all 1Ls will testify–there is no time for such trivial tasks as "unpacking" during the fall semester. So, the boxes continued to sit there. Occasionally I would need something from one of the boxes. Their contents were varied....one had framed photos from my home and office, one had a lot of important paperwork--like tax returns and financial documents--another had some memorabilia from my office, and the final one just was a collection of anything that could fit in the box.

I vowed that I’d empty those boxes during fall break, but that didn’t happen. I also managed to avoid the boxes during Christmas break. Much of the time I could just ignore the boxes. But, since returning to school for the spring semester, it has been my mission to unpack those four boxes. And, finally, this weekend, I completed the task. They were just cardboard boxes, but they had so much of my life in them. Digging into the boxes I found movie ticket stubs, playbills, check registers, journals, diplomas and certificates.

I made a deal with myself (and the boxes) that I only had time this weekend to unpack one; and the deal was that I’d unpack a box every weekend until the task was done. But, once I unpacked the first, I couldn’t help but turn to the second, and so on. By midnight, all of the boxes were unpacked and their contents had found their new home.

If you ever visit me in Lynchburg you will notice that there are no wall hangings in my home. Some pictures are set around the wall, but I’ve never hung them. I think that the fact I can’t bring myself to hang a picture is the same reason why I couldn’t unpack the boxes. My unofficial non-psychiatric evaluation of my own motives is that I didn’t know if I’d be staying, and I wanted to keep a part of me in "moving mode" for a while. Unpacking those boxes this weekend–and unpacking "all" of them–made me finally feel like this is home (absolutely and unequivocally). If you’re not transient and you’re not moving, why do you need your stuff boxed up, right? The boxes have been placed in the recycle bin; and the revelation of the empty boxes is that I am officially unpacked, and I’ve decided to stay for a while. I s'pose I should hang those pictures next weekend...