Just one day left. One day to sort through papers and collections and clothes. One day to put my life in boxes and in storage. One more day to soak up everything that this beautiful farm is and has been, to say goodbye to pups and family and my comfort zone.
On Thursday, everything changes.
While packing, I discovered the Millennium Backstreet Boys CD that I spent a whole twenty bucks on when I was about twelve and listened to a hundred million times. (I probably still know all the lyrics.) I found notes from my very first boyfriend, transcripts from high school, a packet of British receipts from when I went on a year-long adventure there alone in 2007, and even a plane ticket from when I traveled with my family to Hawaii in 2004.
I have held onto nearly everything.
And I realized, as I smiled and reminisced and sorted these things into piles to donate or throw away, that I am not only physically releasing these things that I have kept for years and years and years; I am saying goodbye to the past –– to self-doubt, to swirling pools of depression, to completely false perceptions of who I was or had to be –– , letting go, and jumping into my future free of the burdens of years ago.
What beautiful freedom.
(But I'm keeping the CD.)