I Hate Packing…. A Self-Directed And, Hopefully, Therapeutic Rant
The piece that I write and publish on Sundays, if the truth be told, should actually be called the late Saturday Evening Digital News.
This is mainly because I think about it, on and off, pretty much all day Saturday and then write most of it late in the evening after my brain quiets down.
This quietude is a bit more difficult to achieve right about now, because we are about two and a half weeks away from the day we leave Toronto for the tranquillity of St Catharines, some 75 miles down the highway.
And I am, admittedly a bit stressed about this.
I’m stressed by the boxes I keep running into on the way anywhere to anywhere in my house.
I’m stressed by constantly wondering how the movers are going to get all our stuff into their moving truck.
I’m stressed by the fact that I have no idea how we have managed to accumulate such a horrendous amount of stuff anyway.
Hell, I’m even stressed about why I’m so stressed about all the things I just mentioned.
I’m not exactly sure what causes this stress in me. It’s not like I haven’t been through this a number of times before.
But this time, it’s a bit different and I can’t seem to decide if it’s good different or not-so-good different.
The Good & The Not-So-Good
On the good side, I’m moving to a city that is the hub of an area of the country that I am familiar with. It’s close enough so that I can easily get to Toronto when I need to, but far enough away to make me feel like I have really left. It’s a city, but a smaller one that has a really good vibe about it. It’s relatively flat which makes the bike riding that much easier. And it’s very close to a lot of people I am close to.
On the not so good side...Hmmm. Well, we will be farther our kids and grandkids. But it’s not like we see them all the time. They all have very busy lives, and the fact is that we will probably see them just as much as we always do.
Also on the not-so-good side is Toronto itself. It’s a city in a fairly constant state of chaos caused by population growth and an aging infrastructure. It seems that the longer I live here the more I feel that chaos and resent it. Getting around this city by car is mostly a pain in the ass. And since I’m not a big live sports and entertainment guy anyway, I don’t really get the utility from living here that a lot of other people do.
And that’s about it on the not-so-good side.
The Awful Truth
So by the process of elimination in my head, what’s stressing me out seems to boil down to three little words….
I hate packing!
There I said it. Whew!
I hate the idea of bundling up all my stuff and patching up and repainting all the places where I take my stuff off a wall and put it in a box.
I hate constantly trying to figure out how to fill boxes to the top so they will stack without getting crushed by other boxes.
I hate labeling boxes even thought I acknowledge the necessity for it.
I hate boxing up stuff and putting it in a pile only to discover that I need something that I have already boxed.
I hate the fact that now that my house is filled with boxes and the chaos that a house full of boxes creates. They are amazingly passive aggressive, these damn boxes.
I hate the idea that my evenings are generally spent in exhausted sloth, as a result of all the real work involved in filling and shuffling these boxes around.
And last but not least I’m kind of pissed off with myself for feeling this way.
On the positive side, because it’s always a question of balance, I actually really like the idea of unpacking and organizing all my stuff, which I will be doing very shortly.
Trying Like Hell To Think Positive
So maybe the lesson here is that when the ‘present’ is something you can file under ‘Oppressive’, then it’s really best to stay focused on the future.
Thanks for indulging me yet another therapeutic rant. I still hate packing but I feel so much better.
If your business has reached the point where talking to a communication professional would be the preferred option to banging your head against the wall or whatever, lets talk.
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