16 Boxes

Almost everyday we hear somebody say “I live vicariously through you” or “ I wish we could do what you’re doing.” As inviting as it may seem, it’s probably not the lifestyle for everybody. There is actually quite a commitment to chucking it all and becoming a gypsy. It takes a dash of nerve and a pinch of intestinal fortitude to get rid of everything you own except a handful of personal items that can be fit into a few boxes.

16 boxes to be exact. 25 years of marriage and 3 kids later, we're whittled down to 16 boxes, most them in storage. Many of these boxes are tagged to go directly to the kids when they are more settled, and some, containing photo albums and baby clothes will not be opened for years. We no longer own a stick of furniture, an appliance or a bit of clothing we are not planning to wear in the near future (including those skinny jeans that were hanging around as incentive). It is amazingly freeing and, at the same time, a little bit frightening.

Back when I was packing the boxes -- they sat taunting me surrounded by a heap of bubble-wrap, packing tape and intimidation -- they made things a little too real.

"A change is ahead," the boxes mocked, knowing I have issues with change.

I am no longer a Mommy, but a long distance mother. I no longer need to wake up in the middle of the night to breastfeed a newborn, to stay up late waiting on a teenager past her curfew or to get up at the crack of dawn to shuttle the brood to school. If I am up late -- or early -- it's merely because feel like it. "Why does this seem daunting?" I asked the boxes. They simply stared up at me and gave no answer. Apparently, the boxes just pose the questions.

The boxes continued, "You have no plans!" It appears that the boxes are also aware that I like to be prepared.

Even though our plan as GypsyNesters is NO plans, the boxes’ statement was thought provoking. Stupid boxes, making me think about stuff.

It is true that I am, down deep in my core, a planner. Years ago, I came across a poem my mother wrote that beautifully (and truthfully) described me. Even as a child I was someone who looked so forward to an upcoming event -- subsequently planning every moment -- that when the big day arrived, I was always let down. I've been working on improvement, but I will probably always be a work in progress.

I do firmly believe that all of that planning business served me well in the parenting department. But now the time had come, dear boxes, for the obsessive planning to end. The plan is for you to be in storage--no matter how much you whine.

"What about our precious cargo," they asked, "don't you care about ANYTHING anymore?"

That one was easy. The stuff in those boxes had been on shelves, in drawers, and not looked at for quite sometime. It's the history of us, my husband and our family, my parents and grandparents. No one in our family is at a point in their lives where memory lane is a street in their neighborhood.

I also know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the photo albums, grandma's china and the books I treasured as a child remain precious. Someday, perhaps one of my daughters, a grandson or an alien from a far away galaxy will cherish my keepsakes as I have. But, for now -- you 16 boxes -- it's up to you to keep my memories safe.

'Cause I'm outta here.

Veronica, GypsyNester.com