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FlickrThe Gasping, Sucking Strain of Ritual
I'm a creature of ritual and habit. That's not really a secret. I function best when I have a schedule laid out ahead of me; I am in my best moods when certain parts of my day run exactly as they have before; and I love rituals and superstitions and strange little quirks of behavior that govern holidays, celebrations, social interactions. It's why I love talking to people. It's why I love the SCA (or have come to love it recently, anyway). It's why I love new relationships, with the learning each others' quirks and sharp edges and recipes for happiness. It's why the end of the year is so great, for Thanksgiving and Christmas. It's why I get up every morning at the same time, why I can handle my problems if I can tell what time it is, why I sometimes set my calendar by the bagels in the lunchroom.
Moving is the opposite of routine.
Moving is an inherent disruption of ritual. It requires extra energy normally reserved for life's others ins and outs; it requires you to go without some things for some amount of time while they are tucked away in boxes; it requires planning and favor-asking and physical labor; and worst of all for me, it requires, for anywhere from 30 days and up, that I surrender the concept of home.
Home is at the center of my rituals. Home is a base of operations, a storage space, and an anchor. I cook my meals standing in certain directions, I hang or store my utensils using certain motions, I duck away in certain ways to avoid the high-pressure faucet wetting my clothes. I memorize the flow of things in my home and work by rote, pleased to just be able to sit there and feel the way things exist within my home.
When I am moving, I cannot do that. I experience everything with a sense of its limitations, measure my actions by what I can afford to pack now and pack later. I divvy the house up into nights of work and boxes, budget my time into making it as easy as I can. I buy food in a way that lets me afford a U-Haul. It makes me stressed, and tense, and occasionally even sick, confused when I even contemplate the fact that this phase must end.
And yet, moving has its own magic. It has the DVDs I watch while I pack, which seem, so far, to all be different takes on crime drama. (Two winters ago it was Bones; now it's Dexter. I can't imagine what it'll be the next time.) It has the joys of Box Tetris, the reexamination of my spatial footprint and the geometry of my belongings. It has the valuing and revaluing of the little things and the decision about what I must own. It has the cleansing feeling of hard labor, and the sense of a major accomplishment when the furniture's all brought in. And it has the shivering promise of a new routine, of the little joys when I figure it all out. Living is ritual, but moving is adventure.
What I'm saying in all this is that I am coming to terms with the move, and finding the ways it excites me. And that, if I can, I'll be doing some of my packing in a pirate hat.
(And yes, Not Providence will be back soon.)
Moving is the opposite of routine.
Moving is an inherent disruption of ritual. It requires extra energy normally reserved for life's others ins and outs; it requires you to go without some things for some amount of time while they are tucked away in boxes; it requires planning and favor-asking and physical labor; and worst of all for me, it requires, for anywhere from 30 days and up, that I surrender the concept of home.
Home is at the center of my rituals. Home is a base of operations, a storage space, and an anchor. I cook my meals standing in certain directions, I hang or store my utensils using certain motions, I duck away in certain ways to avoid the high-pressure faucet wetting my clothes. I memorize the flow of things in my home and work by rote, pleased to just be able to sit there and feel the way things exist within my home.
When I am moving, I cannot do that. I experience everything with a sense of its limitations, measure my actions by what I can afford to pack now and pack later. I divvy the house up into nights of work and boxes, budget my time into making it as easy as I can. I buy food in a way that lets me afford a U-Haul. It makes me stressed, and tense, and occasionally even sick, confused when I even contemplate the fact that this phase must end.
And yet, moving has its own magic. It has the DVDs I watch while I pack, which seem, so far, to all be different takes on crime drama. (Two winters ago it was Bones; now it's Dexter. I can't imagine what it'll be the next time.) It has the joys of Box Tetris, the reexamination of my spatial footprint and the geometry of my belongings. It has the valuing and revaluing of the little things and the decision about what I must own. It has the cleansing feeling of hard labor, and the sense of a major accomplishment when the furniture's all brought in. And it has the shivering promise of a new routine, of the little joys when I figure it all out. Living is ritual, but moving is adventure.
What I'm saying in all this is that I am coming to terms with the move, and finding the ways it excites me. And that, if I can, I'll be doing some of my packing in a pirate hat.
(And yes, Not Providence will be back soon.)
Labels: real life
posted by Tyler at
9:00 AM
3 Comments:
So... I take it you're moving? ;)
I thought you were just looking for a new housemate. What's the deal?
Anyway, let me know if there's any way I can help!
I actually love moving and have moved once a year for the past 4 years (if you don't count college dorms). Here's why it's fun: you get to see all your stuff, packing boxes is like a game (I also think CQAs and the queue are like a game, so maybe I'm just easily amused), you get an exuse to eat a lot of pizza, you get a whole new setting and a fresh start!!! Have fun! (Maybe I will get to move soon!)
@Carmelly: The search for a new housemate turned into a bigger production than expected, thanks to the magic of not finding a housemate. So yes, I am moving. Right now, the best thing you can do is let me know if you can come help me move boxes or unpack once I know where my things are going to land. Thank you for the offer, and I'll keep you posted!
@Corey: Thanks for the perspective, and you're absolutely right: It is fun. It just takes a little mental swimming for me to get to that place.
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