Learning to Pack Light and Recognize Treasures

I've moved so many times I've lost count. And as I write this, we're planning another move from sunny California to sunny Portugal. There's lots of turmoil connected to a move, but one of the most challenging aspects is getting rid of belongings.

Over the years I've found it easier and easier to get rid of stuff, but real treasures are harder to part with.

Do you really need all that stuff?

The first time we left Los Angeles to relocate to Turkey it was an arduous task to decide what to take and what to leave behind. We'd spent a couple of decades feathering our nest, and so many of our belongings had sentiment attached that warped their value. 

We could only take so much, and spent months emptying cupboards and drawers of clutter. I was quite ruthless, and wrote this poem about our decluttering process. 

2 pans, 2 cups, 2 bowls, 2 plates, God forbid if one of the breaks.

The shelves are bare and drawers are empty. 

We’ve cleared a space, where once there was plenty. 

All that clutter that anchored us down. 

Was donated to others so we can leave town. 

How many shoes does one girl need? 

What’s truly sufficient, and what’s just pure greed? 

When’s enough just enough to keep you afloat. 

When’s more than enough, just a reason to gloat? 

Why do we hoard, and leave clutter untouched, 

When all that we need just isn’t that much. 

We’ve turned the corner, to flee with essentials. 

And the path before us, is paved with potential.  

It was a real struggle to let stuff go. I unearthed possessions I'd completely forgotten about, but as soon as I saw them again I felt that strong tug of ownership - "I can't possibly part with this!" Even though two minutes before it hadn't existed. 

Moments of compassion for inanimate objects were replaced with quasi-ruthlessness, and we managed to pair our lives down to 11 suitcases, a bike, a guitar, and a set of golf clubs.

Arriving in Turkey

Years later when we left Turkey, some of those suitcases still hadn't been unpacked! And now most of these belongings are sitting in a storage facility, waiting patiently for us to claim them. 

I can't honestly remember what's there. It's all stuff that hasn't been missed. 

A Treasure named Snowy

As we prepare to leave for Portugal, I could quite happily leave this apartment with just the clothes on my back, except for one item.. 

My Mum clutching Snowy

Snowy was my Mum's constant companion in her later years. She used to have a couple of West Highland Terriers, and I think there was an element of familiarity about Snowy. Or maybe she was attracted by his softness.

I have plenty of belongings, but it's just stuff. Whereas Snowy is intrinsically linked to memories. He's a tactile reminder of special moments.   

I've never been a cuddly-toy lover. But for Snowy I'm making an exception. He brought so much comfort to my Mum, and I'm hoping he'll continue to work his magic with me.

About Jay Artale

Jay Artale abandoned her corporate career to become a digital nomad and full-time writer. She’s an avid blogger, podcaster, and nonfiction author helping travel writers and travel bloggers achieve their self-publishing goals. She shares tips, advice, and inspiration to writers with an independent spirit at her website Birds of a Feather Press, and documents her travels and artistic endeavours at her blog Roving Jay. Follow her on Instagram or Facebook or Twitter.

Jay is the author of A Turbulent Mind: A Poetry Collection of a Mother's Journey with Alzheimer's.

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