I’ve realized recently that I never settle anywhere. There’s always boxes. Opened and unopened, just boxes everywhere.
I’ve never stayed in one place for very long. The longest was four years, and there is still a box in the corner of the bedroom. Unpacked, and just sitting there. When I do unpack, I never put things away completely. Doing so would mean I’m staying, and I have no reason to believe that I’m staying anywhere. Why unpack when my life is so unsettled? I haven’t learned to unpack. In real life, or my mind.
I’d really like to, though.
I’d like to have a home. A place where I can feel safe and know that I’ll be there for a while. I want to hang things up in the closet and put clothes in drawers and feel like it’s finally my place to be. Not the usual unsettling feeling that it’s temporary, and I have to be ready for my Plan B, which doesn’t really exist. There is no Plan B. In fact, my Plan B is simply fear.
Unpacking is really symbolic for me. Why put things in their place if you don’t have a place there? Every place I’ve moved, I’ve always thought it was permanent, but my heart always told me different. Don’t get too comfortable. The rug could be pulled out from under you. So leave things in boxes. Leave things ready to throw in your car. This won’t last for long.
Well, as uncertain as I am in this life now, I’m going to unpack. I’m not sure if this is permanent, but I’m going to live like it is. Maybe the act of putting things away and making my own space will make it that way. Keeping things in bags and boxes hasn’t done much good for me so far. So I’ll try this.
I am finding where I belong and I’m going to make a place for me here. I deserve it. Finally.