Amid the stacks of moving boxes

Trying to find mindfulness during a move

Last week was straining and busy, and my thoughts felt as scattered as the belongings we were sorting through. Writing felt impossible amidst the chaos, but I suppose this text reflects that state of mind. On Wednesday, we emptied out the storage locker we had filled a year ago. Over the past nine years, my family and I have moved items and furniture countless times. When we downsized to a much smaller apartment last year, renting a storage locker seemed like the best solution, a safe place to keep what we couldn't make room for at home...until further notice.

Should we keep our belongings here and stay, or move back home? The ageless question we used to ponder daily has finally been answered: we decided to ship everything back home and prepare to move.

Once again, I found myself surrounded by boxes, deciding what to keep with me for the next seven months and what to send ahead. What do we keep, and what do we leave behind? Not just in boxes, but in life in order to find balance. Because just as in yoga, transitions require balance, the awareness of what grounds us and what moves us forward.

I faced the mountain of our belongings: heirlooms, collections, and the emotional debris of three generations. Fragile vases handed down by my grandparents sat beside stacks of CDs and vinyl records my brother and I handpicked over the years. And then, there were piles of what some might call junk. A deck of hanafuda cards I bought in Japan nine years ago. Trinkets. Yarn, so much yarn, am I already preparing for my “ancient phase”?

As the proclaimed family organiser I stood in the midst of it all, listing the contents of each box on my notebook. My mind fluctuating between storms of thoughts and pure emptiness, the sounds of tape ripping and bubble wrap crinkling echoing throughout the storage facility.

When we pulled out the clear IKEA boxes containing all of our CDs and vinyl records, a thought interrupted what was now a routine “I forgot how many vinyls we had” to which followed “why do we even pay Spotify?”. Convenience. The company’s controversial royalty policies are no secret, yet we rely on it daily. Convenience has made us content. It’s easier, sure, but we’ve grown so accustomed to it that we forget to be grateful. Grateful for the artists, for the access, for the chance to hear any song at any moment. I couldn't help but wonder how much of our lives are ruled by convenience versus intention. In the chaos of daily life, we’ve forgotten how to stop and dedicate time to listen. Simply listen. Whether it’s music, the birds chirping within the trees or a friendly conversation.

Half-forgotten is the art of vinyls and the (what I think is) amazing carving of each circular groove on the disc, sitting crossed legged in front of the turntable listening to a whole album in order to appreciate it’s craft. And with that comes the dedication and time to select each albums and artists carefully, aware of the price of each record.

A song I hadn’t thought of in years crept into my mind:

I have these thoughts, so often I ought
To replace that slot with what I once bought
'Cause somebody stole my car radio
And now I just sit in silence

Sometimes quiet is violent […]

I hate this car that I'm driving, there's no hiding for me
I'm forced to deal with what I feel
There is no distraction to mask what is real

And briefly pondered on silence. Silence can be uncomfortable, violent even, but oh-so necessary. It’s easier now than ever to drown out our thoughts with distractions: earphones, screens, endless scrolling. We’ve mastered the art of fearing silence. A miserable mastery.

The storage couldn’t have been emptied and decluttered if I weren’t present and aware of what was happening and what each thing was. It’s hefty work but necessary. Decluttering the mind is the same, we can’t expect it to clear out on its own. Thoughts need to be made aware of and emotions need to be sat with. They do not require labeling but acknowledgement.

As the movers carried out more boxes to be numbered and listed, my clothes box surfaced. A medium sized box where I folded all of my shirts, pants, maybe a couple of dresses and/or skirts that have a strong chance of not seeing light for the next 8 months. A single box for 15 years of clothes: minimal to some, excessive to others

By noon, the movers stepped outside for a quick cigarette break. I sat down on a raised pallet in the locker, resting my forehead on my notebook containing all the lists of belongings, now thick with annotations, propped against my knees. Closing my eyes, I let go of the thoughts buzzing in my head and focused on my breath. Just a few minutes of stillness amidst the chaos.

An impromptu meditation to steady myself for what was still ahead.

And then I felt a little bit more ready, ready to move forward. Not just with the boxes, but with the life waiting on the other side.

How do you navigate the chaos of moving, physically, emotionally, or even spiritually?

Do you have rituals or practices, like mindfulness or meditation, that help you find balance during transitions?

Boxes, paintings and wrappings...