Good morning from Truro.
How strange it is to write that.
As you’ve noticed, we’ve been quiet since our arrival a week ago yesterday. Only now it feels like our souls are catching up with our bodies.
Moves are never easy, and this one left me physically exhausted. It did not go as expected, and I am surprised how easy it was to drive away from 195 NH Route 16.
I was ready for the kinds of deep levels of grief one experiences when knowing it’s your last time with a soul-friend. But there was nothing. Strange, right?
On each of our seven cross-country coddiwomples, the night before leaving, I always felt mournful. It was just as bad as we slipped away for points West the next day. Never once did I jump into the car with happiness.
So it was only natural to expect it with this final departure. Yet there was nothing.
The last months were stressful, and the final weeks wore me out physically. The best thing I did was rent a dumpster for two weeks. That made decluttering easy.
I ended up sending three packages ahead to Truro. One was a box of books; another carried two larger framed pieces. The third, we are still awaiting. Other than those, we came only with what I could fit in the HMS Beagle, which was not much.
The favorite pieces of art and photographs were gifted to friends. Many did not know they were receiving them. Each of these seemed a perfect fit when they landed. More than once, I wished to be a fly on the wall when a package arrived unexpectedly at their door.
What began as a goal of decluttering turned into an exercise in minimalism. I realized how little I need to be happy.
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