Little Boxes

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Moving your life from one location to another one box at a time is an interesting experience.

When you see everything on a shelf, you accept those items as being where they belong. They are no longer individual items with individual importance, but a collective, comforting presence. They are there for no other reason than, at least in your mind, they belong there.

I try to cut back. I really do. But then there are items I find that serve no purpose other than to keep being there, being familiar.

I will have to get rid of things eventually. My husband and I will have to cram our accumulated things (our accumulated history) into one very small apartment and live there, cozily, for the next five years or until God changes the status quo. Life will be tight and tiny. We’ll need to watch what we eat just to make sure the other has room to move.

But when you have to force your life, your history, the things you love, into a tiny box, you have to eliminate everything that isn’t absolutely essential. It’s okay to let go of some things. It’s okay to let go of a lot of things.

We’re only here for a little while, anyway.

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