Today I started the mammoth task that has been staring me in the face for the last 34 days.
I started packing.
Starting was always going to be the hardest part. As with anything. But I was starting with our spare room, our crap ‘let’s throw everything in here and deal with it later’ room. I knew I would have to pack, and sort, and file and tidy, simultaneously. So I organised to drop off baby girl at my parents for a few hours while I got started.
I took up two bedrooms and the hallway as I spread out boxes, piles of paper, and random stuff that would be making the long tog over with us to the bay.
And I amazed myself with the results. I ended up spent and drained from all the work, but I did an amazing job of labelling and organising and packing everything into ‘like’ piles and boxes.
And I realised, that this is my bread-and-butter. A self-confessed OCD gal (amongst other self-confessed admissions) packing to move house, although trying, is not hard for me – it is therapeutic. It is necessary.
This spare room that has been doing my head in since the beginning of its spare room existence, is starting to look sorted. And just knowing I will keep it sorted and well-organised, in my amply-spaced Sea change house, is making my heart sing with joy.
What am I grateful for today? Even I’m confused. Something about packing up, being made for it, and taking the first steps to organise my life…
But I’m grateful, and that’s all that matters.