the first of many
This week, I had the first of many freak-outs about what is about to happen to my life. Only, this time, instead of wailing and sobbing like a crazy person, I just went into super control freak fix-it mode. It was much more uncomfortable and less cathartic, but I think I got through it without making anyone else crazy, so that’s a good thing.
So, what stirred that crazy pot? Well, it was arranging our mover–something that should have been so easy because I had already done tons of research and found the perfect, five star reviewed, A+ with the BBB, interstate mover to take all our shit to CA. And they would pack us up–all for an expensive, but reasonable, amount. When I called months ago, we had no idea what we were in for with Fogg. But the guy I spoke to was awesome and so I was all set to book with them months later when it was finally time for this next step toward gone.
Only life is never simple, is it? The shit you think is solid often is quite the opposite. Things can change. People change. And one thing can delay everything else.
I had to book the mover this week to make sure we got a mover because a) I had to give notice for time off this week; b) I had all these things I had to book–like a housecleaner, carpet guy, junk recycler; and c) I had to give notice to our apartment building manager that it was finally happening. Once confirmed, we could confirm our actual on-the-road date–which determines things like the rental car we’re getting for the trip, when I can get my tattoo, and our AirBnB stay in Denver until we can actually go–since I have stuff keeping us here a couple days longer. And all of this is falling on a holiday weekend. So it was really important to get things booked early.
There’s still a ton of physical things to do, too–and most of it is on me to do them–so I was a bit stressed out already–but calm…confident that our full-service mover pick would help me feel better about life.
But then I called them, and the new guy I spoke to was kind of an asshole. He promised to do certain things and didn’t. Told me one thing and then another thing happened. Oh, and he bullied me into a site visit that would not be informative because we’re getting rid of half our stuff.
I finally agreed and was so desperate to just get this shit over with and done that I actually tried to reserve the dates anyway–hoping the ratings and reviews were right–but knowing in my gut that I did not trust this man. And that I would likely be worried sick about our belongings the entire time we waited for them.
Luckily, he again fibbed about what he’d do and never actually reserved anything–so I decided to keep looking–just in case I could find a better situation.
Welp, what a shit show that was. I asked for recommendations, looked on Yelp, Googled high and low. And here’s what I found: Interstate moving companies super suck and are very few and far between here in Denver. All the good companies don’t do them. The ones who do either never call you back or are crappy as Hell. Not comforting when they are transporting your entire life somewhere. We are taking some stuff in the SUV with us when we go, but there’s only so much room. And precious things, like the doll cradle my dad made for me, have to go in there. I’m not really a stuff girl, so if something breaks, I won’t really cry. But those sentimental items are the exception. We actually aren’t taking much furniture. It’s almost going to be all boxes. But we need competent people who actually communicate.
Yesterday, I was getting super frustrated with all of it. I was still waiting on people to call me back when someone suggested we do a service that basically drops off a trailer on your street, lets you fill it however you want to, and then transports it anywhere in 3-5 days. They have storage there, so if it takes you a while to get there, they can hold it. That got my brain thinking. Everyone seemed to love this company, the price was good, and it was quick–no waiting 2 weeks like some quoted. But the whole thing about it being on the street freaked me out–mostly because getting a parking space can be horrific here and crime (especially property crime) is up in our ‘hood. It became more and more clear that we were just not going to do better, so I finally talked to my roomie and we decided to hire local movers to pack and load us into this thing; then have them take it out to California; and then hire a local moving company there to unload it.
I had a hassle free time arranging it. Now, I just need to book the local movers. It looks like we may actually save money. I’ve decided to do the Denver move with the family-run, awesome moving company that moved me out of Westwood after my Mama died. They remembered me when I called. I just need to confirm some details and, hopefully, this step in the ordeal will be over. I’m hoping to have that done tomorrow.
Having the mover from back in 2005 be part of this journey of moving away from Denver feels very appropriate–a full circle moment. They were there when I said goodbye to my childhood home and my neighborhood–my life with my mother. It makes me really emotional, actually.
Today, I had a dental procedure done, and I love all the women in this small office. We were all talking about my move since my last appointment is a few days before. The younger women in the office–including my awesome hygienist–kept telling me how brave I was. They didn’t even really know the entire story, and they still thought that. I didn’t give myself credit before, but now I realize this whole thing is kind of brave. Leaving everything you know for a new life? It’s brave. Oddly, I’ve admired others who did it for that reason, but never myself. Not until today.
I’ve been super emotional lately–what with the violence and politicking going on and just not feeling great physically. But I see now that I am often near tears these days because I am pushing myself to go through my stuff–to let go of things–and man, I hate letting go of things.
This move, I think, is cracking me wide open. That’s scary, but freeing too–especially because I feel like I’ve been holding myself in–and back–for years. Things that happened had me curl up a bit–keeping up barriers I didn’t need–or want. And leaving home–leaving them–leaving all those memories and scars–it’s ripping off scabs and letting them air out.
Strangely, tonight, I feel fairly calm about everything–worried about my ability to get it done if I still feel shitty–but calm that it will all somehow work out. That I’ll get what I need. Even if, as I did in 2005, I find a whole secret room 1 hour before the movers arrive–when I had no more boxes. The things I need will show up. They always do. And even if they don’t, this freight train is not stopping.
One of the things that still has to happen is me saying goodbye to my parents. Which means a roadtrip and visits that are sure to be gut wrenching. I had planned on my roommates coming, but the more I think about it, the more I think it has to be a solo trip–without distractions or me trying to make others comfortable. It needs to be about me wandering and holding space for these places and people in my heart. I’ll be back, of course, but you never really know when with these things. And nothing will be the same.
I think I might do it on, or near, my birthday–before the final insanity of getting shit done happens. To prepare myself for the next stage in my life.
I truly don’t know how I’ll drive–because I will likely bawl myself into oblivion–but I’ll find a way. And I’ll probably pick up a burger at Penelope’s and grab some cool rocks while I’m at it. Oh, and take lots of pictures–as always.
I have so much love and gratitude for this place that has held me as its own child for my entire life–through every hardship and every single joyful moment.
So, of course, I’m crying.