Packing boxes are the staple of my life. From the time I came out of the university, I have worked in jobs that meant traveling from country to country, living there for a while, developing a few friends, till the time came to move again. All my worldly belongings went in cardboard boxes, neatly sealed and labeled at one end and impatiently opened and rearranged at the other. Those khaki boxes with silver duct tapes all over them seemed to represent my life, uprooted from one land and replanted in another.
The first couple of times I took great pains to list all my things, categorize them by nature and use, and, once the boxes arrived at destination, to open them promptly and place them quickly in appropriate rooms. Then I grew tired of the routine and took my time opening and arranging the contents. Sometimes a box would not be opened for months; sometimes it would remain unopened and was later simply forwarded to the next country I went to.
Every time I moved, I told myself I would simplify my life and not port so much stuff from one stint to another. After all, I was the 21st century nomad who could get most of the things I needed in the place I went or order online. Yet my boxes grew in number and size, and each successive move seemed burdened with the need to move a larger consignment.
The first couple of times I took great pains to list all my things, categorize them by nature and use, and, once the boxes arrived at destination, to open them promptly and place them quickly in appropriate rooms. Then I grew tired of the routine and took my time opening and arranging the contents. Sometimes a box would not be opened for months; sometimes it would remain unopened and was later simply forwarded to the next country I went to.
Every time I moved, I told myself I would simplify my life and not port so much stuff from one stint to another. After all, I was the 21st century nomad who could get most of the things I needed in the place I went or order online. Yet my boxes grew in number and size, and each successive move seemed burdened with the need to move a larger consignment.
People say wistfully, “If I were to live my life all over again…” As I went to a new country I abandoned my home and neighborhood, colleagues and friends, familiar storekeepers, doctors and plumbers, and look for new people and places to fill my life. I was literally living life all over again, more than once, and had the singular opportunity to change the style, pace or purpose of my life. As with my boxes, I vowed to change something, and did perhaps change a few things. But those were the inconsequential ones, and soon I found myself doing the same things in the same way and living essentially the same life – another time.
Finally, the truth dawned on me that the life we live, modified though it is at the margin by our circumstances, is substantially the life we create by our omissions and commissions. Whatever we say or think from time to time, essentially most of us don’t want to change anything, and our life flows on, devoid of drama, but also bereft of design.
The gypsy who would never stay put just wouldn’t change his soiled bandanna.
Finally, the truth dawned on me that the life we live, modified though it is at the margin by our circumstances, is substantially the life we create by our omissions and commissions. Whatever we say or think from time to time, essentially most of us don’t want to change anything, and our life flows on, devoid of drama, but also bereft of design.
The gypsy who would never stay put just wouldn’t change his soiled bandanna.
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