This whole process of packing and moving is familiar. I have moved more than 45 times since I left my parents home to go to  university. Counting buying as one transaction and selling as another, this will be my 15th real estate transaction covering 8 properties. So the whole idea of getting boxes and doing the planning, I am in a pretty familiar place.

Getting rid of stuff? Mindblowing. I am so relieved I can barely speak. I have never had such a deep line in the sand facing me and I’ve really thrown down the gauntlet this time. I have been culling stuff for years. Almost every time they call, I have something for the Clothesline program to pick up for Value Village. And by something I mean 4 garbage bags filled. This time is different because I have vowed not to get bored or disillusioned in the process. Its what has always done me in. Boredom. The need to move on to something else. My inability to stick it out to the end. Because of that, I have moved more shit across the country  more times than I care to admit. Because trust me – its easier to pack stuff than it is to get rid of it. To put stuff in a pile to sell, or give away, or put at the curb, or just throw it out. Not this time. EVERYTHING MUST GO. I will not compromise. Holy SHIT.

Emotionally, I am attached to nothing. Seriously. Not a thing.

Ok, a few things. Some things of my parents I will always keep. Some art. My jewelry (which will not be making the trip FYI) (Because that ring…in that country? No.) Some things I have just had for a really long time and I know they will make me feel comfortable when I come back to my new place. But 99% of it is gone. No attachment.

Every once in awhile though, I zoom out to 50,000 ft. I stop thinking  about the things I need to get rid of tomorrow and I think into the future a few months. To a time when I’m homeless.  When the very few things that I still own are either with me in a suitcase, or at my new place. Which is not mine, nor is it permanent. And that freaks me out. Not having a car to drive the very minute I arrive home next time, that’s freaking me out. Not having a home that I own, that’s freaking me out. I’ve owned my own home pretty much since 1994. With a few notable gaps. I’ve owned my own car since 1989. Without gaps.

So it has not alluded me that I am taking a giant step. I’m getting on an airplane and going across the world to find a place for myself in a completely different country (and a DEVELOPING country at that), with no job and no currently known address, with only what I can carry with me. Whoa.

Add to that now, I have no car. I have no home. I have a Canadian address and a place to put my things, sure. I will make it my own in time, yes. But it is not mine. No stake in the real estate market. No land. I am going to a country of nomads, to live as a nomad. How bizarre. HOW BIZARRE. I think the most interesting part, and the part that gives me energy, is that I don’t mind. I am ok with all of this. In the past, (I have thought about this a lot), not having a car or a home of my own? No. Not an option. 5 seconds of thought to get to no.

Not this time. This time I’m ok with it. So far.

I don’t know what the future holds. I have no idea. I only know that changing careers mid life was not challenging enough so I am going to really mix it up. The question is, what will I take with me that will ground me. What thing, or things, will I take along that will keep my feet on earth. Keep me connected to my self. To keep me whole? Because I have no idea right now what that will be. But I sure am interested in finding out. What will be my home and solace?

My God, what have I done?????

(No. That was not the first sign of remorse. Or terror. I’m still as excited about this move as I was at the start. Just a little blown away by the sheer magnitude sometimes.)

But ok. So far.