Moving

Moving

Although I am moving across the country to start a doctoral program in English, and I am experiencing all the challenges and rewards that come with such a move after living in one place for thirty-two years, what I am really moving into is my own skin. Have you ever had a moment where you felt you were nearing the destination of you? You were not nearing a last destination, an end, or even a beginning, but a place off the number line and free from the x and y axis of things as they had been.

The first time I experienced disorientation from my norm was during my time as an undergrad at Berkeley. Although drawn to unfamiliar territory, I was at times wary about letting go of my anchors, compass, and habitual ways of walking this world. Of course, I did not nor will I now cast all I understand away, but I am eager to move closer to me, which means challenging what I understand.

Moving through thirty-two years of stuff--deciding what to give away, donate, recycle, and take--is challenging, but not moving through stuff is like walking by a book and leaving it unopened: a crime.