by Ann Faison
A funny thing always happens to me when I am leaving. When I had my first real job fresh out of college, my boss Alberto pointed it out to me. It was a few days before I was going on my first paid vacation and he noticed I was making mistakes. “You’re already gone,” he said, with a slightly disgusted tone. “You’re not even concentrating. You’re worthless.”
I was annoyed that he was right, of course, but more annoyed that this man I didn’t even like seemed to understand me better than I did.
Ever since that comment, made when I was still just a kid, I have known this about myself. I get so caught up in the impending move that I lose the ability to be present through the process. I tend to stress out, lose my focus, waste time, stress out some more, all while I pack and sort and organize for the move. I am an extremely organized mover/traveler and I tend to get started way in advance which does not alleviate the stress (though it ought to), but it does serve to begin the transportation process well ahead of the actual physical move.
So Here I am, spending my last few days in beautiful Vermont inside my house, obsessively packing, labeling, listing and above all organizing. I am a self-proclaimed control freak and being hyper organized is the CF in me’s attempt to control the outcome of this change. It goes without saying that moving is always messy and disorganized no matter how on top of it you try to be, but I still try. And in the trying I find I am so caught up in the boxes, the tickets, the timeline, that I completely forget that these days are still like every other day in life: important to be lived, not just gotten through.
So I try. I spent some time on the porch tonight, just listening to my favorite birdsong (Hermit Thrush) and smelling the breeze. I enjoyed the moment. But I have to say, all those boxes with my address in L.A. written on them waiting to be shipped have bits of me inside them. I am already anticipating life in L.A. I am already half gone.