The Moving Series #1: On Attachment (and Moving Boxes)

Self-referential musings on moving, pseudo-enlightenment, and the mountain of books I can’t seem to part with.

Like every early 2000s band, I’ve decided to come out of an extended hiatus (over two years, but who’s counting?). Turns out moving boxes are great motivation to pick up writing again (call it procrastination if you like). Consider this a slightly dusty postcard from in-between lives and cardboard boxes. If you’re still here, thank you. If you’re new, welcome to On A Parallel Note..

Moving houses is a stressful process regardless of the circumstances. Even if you’re extremely organized, it’s still chaotic. (Disclaimer: I’m not extremely organized).

It’s the confrontation of all your material possessions at once. The realization of how little “enlightenment” you actually have; call it attachment, call it nihilism, call it whatever you want, either way it’ll probably come up from under a pile of random stuff while you’re packing.

Forget being “present”. Every decision comes with that nagging thought about the future: but will I actually need this? use this? miss this? And then there’s the sting of momentary loss when you give away something you didn’t even realize you were attached to (says the woman who nearly cried over a pair of beat up Doc Martens she hasn’t looked at in eight years).

As I’m currently faced with the task of cramming the past 10-15 years of my life into a tiny storage unit (and understanding why people don’t spontaneously decide “to go back home for a bit” more often). I’ve decided to use this as an exercise in letting go of what I don’t need, the past selves I’ve outgrown, and the things I’ve realised I don’t really care about anymore. (Because I may not be enlightened, but I’m annoyingly stubborn about trying. Yes, I see the irony.)

If there’s something I’ve learned throughout this move, it’s that for someone who fantasizes about being nomadic, the amount of stuff I’ve clung to is quite shocking.

Despite all this, I think everyone has a part of the moving process that feels particularly emotional. Maybe it’s the clothes. Maybe it’s the kitchen. Maybe it’s the furniture.

It’s that one category you procrastinate on, knowingly, because you know it’ll stir things up.

For me, it’s always the books.

My mom has always said, “If you have a book, you’ll never feel lonely”.
And in migration, you learn just how true that is.

If we’ve ever had a long chat, odds are I referenced or suggested one.
If we’re close, I’ve most likely gifted you one (bonus points if there are annotations).

In full disclosure, there’s even a tiny section on my shelf, of books I’ve stolen borrowed from past crushes…

You see my point.

Right , so back to the move…
As someone who obsessively collects books, I sometimes forget that they really are perhaps the most honest “selfie” a person can create.

The way I think has been shaped by these pages.

The way I write comes from these voices. From desperately trying to sound as poetic as Rilke, as playful as Cortázar, or as eloquent as Zadie Smith, sometimes all at once, often with questionable results.
They have accompanied me through moves, trips, hard times, idleness, and commutes.
Have guided ambitious attempts at “getting my whole life together by Monday”, or making Mole Poblano from scratch (with full intention, and only half of the ingredients).
And hosted my vicarious hedonism (try reading Dorothy Parker without suddenly craving a cigarette and a martini)

In their titles, you can trace the passage of time, eras, evolutions, and shifting perspectives on life itself. From finding a matching energy amidst the chaos in Patti Smith and Kim Gordon’s New York, to the ease of Joan Didion and Raymond Carver’s everyday life, to sitting in stillness with Pema Chödrön or Thich Nhat Hanh … or the magical realism of Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Horacio Quiroga, which always feels like an ( admittedly odd) hug from home.

Maybe that’s what moving really is: not carrying things from one place to another, but carrying forward the selves those things once made possible.

Anyway, back to packing!

P.

THIS WEEK’S MUSIC SUGGESTION: