Katie Regan

Writer. Editor. Explorer. Creator.

Tag: Moving

Upon Leaving Colorado

June 9, 2018 / / 0 Comments

I sold my stuff, I left Denver… and it felt weird.  Brief reflections upon leaving what was my home for the past 7 years.

Colorado Rockies

Appreciating what Colorado has to offer

Boy, this feels weird. What has been my life for the past nearly 7 years is no longer. I keep having flashes, most of them mundane. A walk around my neighborhood. The inside of a friend’s house. Old hobbies and habits that have been broken. Old belongings that were always just there that are gone now. Mountain treks and favorite little haunts. It’s a very surreal feeling. I spent my time at DIA in a bit of a fog, feeling hungry and nauseous all at once. I miss my people. I miss my life. I know my new life is going to be awesome (or at the very least strange and different), and it’s something I’ve wanted for a really long time. But right now, a part of me mourns the life I’ve left behind. Like, a Santiago’s burrito would be really great right now.

At least the mountains showed up for me on my last day. They rose majestically to the west as we made our way to the airport. Snow-capped and friendly, reminding me that they, too, would still be there if and when I decide to come back to town.

I get really sentimental about change, I guess. I always have. Leaving my first Denver apartment, I was flooded with emotion. At 8th grade graduation, I was the awkward kid sobbing on stage as we performed the choral rendition of “We’ve Only Just Begun.” Despite the fact that we were all going to the same high school, I was feeling sentimental about times past. The memories in that particular building. I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s how my mind works when I move on from one thing to another.

Crying Graduation 90s

Sometimes, you cry unnecessarily at 8th grade graduation. Sometimes, it’s 1997 and you’re wearing a kick-ass choker.

My apartment in Denver wasn’t all that much to speak of, but it was cozy and it was mine. It was full of comfort and warm memories. In fact, some of its best memories were formed in the most recent months. The fact that that time period in my life is over feels very strange to me. That it’s not all just sitting there, waiting for me to return.

A Colorado Cat Goes to Connecticut

May 13, 2018 / / 1 Comment

Not sure who was more stressed out during our trip across the country, me or the cat

Picture this: a woman in her mid-30’s, standing by the luggage carousel at Westchester County Airport, with a cat in a bag strapped over her shoulder, sobbing openly. Two plane-loads of people milling about, waiting for their own luggage, casting furtive glances. Even the cat, who had had a rough go herself, had finally fallen silent.

I can only imagine the thoughts or questions that go through people’s minds when they see something like this in public. I’m assuming it’s more common in airports than in other locations, but I think most people are able to quell their tears until they are in a more private location. That has never been a gift of mine.

Kitten Tummy

A newly adopted kitten, helping me grade papers

I had just gotten to the end of a journey I had been dreading. I had anxiety about moving my cat since it first crossed my mind. In fact, I probably put off making plans like this numerous times before because the cat got in my way. I had made a commitment to her when I adopted her. I was to be her mom and she and I would be companions. I don’t like reneging on commitments, which is why I hesitate to make them until I am sure about them. And this one took its toll. Every time I looked at her, I was wracked with guilt.

Additionally, she is an AWFUL traveler. Every trip to the vet is a torture experiment that involves a lot of screaming and expelling of fluids from all feline orifices. Not a pleasant experience for either of us. Last time, she soiled herself before I even got her to the car. And forget about when we moved to my current apartment. She, a cat who never has an accident, squatted in the closet and made eye contact with me as she screamed and peed. Not a good look. And that was only a four-mile move. I couldn’t imagine how this move across the country would go. In a plane.

The vet had given me some drugs to give her to calm her down, and I did a trial run with them the week before. I was a little surprised to see that they weren’t tranquilizers but anti-anxiety meds. So she was fully alert, just slightly more chill than usual. This would not be enough, I thought.

Cat in Carrier

Nube actually hanging in her carrier during the drug test run

I lined her carrier with puppy pads and a towel I was willing to dispose of. I packed an extra shirt for me, extra rags, extra puppy pads, and a plastic bag to put soiled things in. Stress was at an all-time high as I prepared to take her away (the amount of times my realtor has seen or heard me cry is now just getting indecent).

She did surprisingly well, most of the time. She cried a lot and didn’t sleep. But she wasn’t screaming or panicking. Even the level of soiling wasn’t too bad. She didn’t puke, she wasn’t panting excessively. A few turds escaped (one on the floor of airport security when I took her out, oops), but it wasn’t bad.

In the middle of the second flight, however, I think the pills must have worn off. She had some moments of screaming and thrashing around violently in her carrier. I’m assuming this is when she peed. But again, compared to what I thought it was going to be like, it really wasn’t that bad.

So why, then, did I find myself sobbing in front of the baggage claim?

As the plane began to descend, it started to hit me. This particular move, taking my cat out of our Colorado home and dropping her off in Connecticut, is the first real “no looking back” step of this whole process. Until now, in the planning phase, it has still been just that: a plan. Now it is all starting to take shape. As I walked out the door and into my Lyft to the airport, my realtors were in my place getting it ready to show.

Cat snuggles

Adjusting surprisingly well to life in Connecticut

For most of this process, I’ve been excited, aware of the things I will miss but knowing that things are fluid and an uncertain future brims with limitless possibilities. Recently, however, I’ve found myself digging in my heels. I’ve brewed up a lot of complicated feelings about leaving, and I’m sure they will only intensify as the clock ticks on and more and more irreversible milestones are hit.

But, as people keep reminding me, irreversible is just a concept. Nothing is set in stone. Nothing is permanent. If, in the deep depths of my heart, I decide I want to return to Denver, I CAN. Maybe it will be a little less affordable once I sell my apartment, but it’s still possible. Anything is possible.

But What About The Books?

April 18, 2018 / / 0 Comments

My inner struggle about whether to keep my library intact or to purge it with the rest of my belongings.

Books are a uniquely portable magic. – Stephen King

I’ve gotta figure out what to do about these books. My original plan was to keep and store my DVDs, books, and obviously any personal effects (filled notebooks, photos, etc.). The rationale behind the DVDs and books was simple: these are libraries that it took me years upon years to amass. My books, in particular, bestow upon me a happiness, a feeling of accomplishment.

Any time the books have been packed up for any length of time, I can feel myself perk up at the first sight of them. When I first moved to Denver, it took about 2-3 weeks for my stuff to arrive on the moving truck. When it came, it was everything. My couch, my kitchen supplies, my BED… despite all these useful items, I immediately unboxed all my books and sat there on the floor surrounded by them, grinning.

Blue Bookshelf

Even right now, they’ve been boxed up since my realtors staged my apartment. It’s just been a couple of weeks. But, the other day I went into the closet to find something and I opened one of the boxes. Some of my favorite tomes sat there, eyeballing me. I felt an immediate jolt of comfort and elation. I adore them. I KNOW them.

This brings me to today. I brought out all the boxes of books from all the closets in order to sort through them. I knew I wasn’t going to keep them all, some had to be cut.

I was very proud of myself earlier. Turns out, I was willing to cut more than I expected. Books that I’ve held onto for years were placed into the “donate” box (which is now full to the brim). It’s time for them to move on to a new home, to be enjoyed by new eyes and hands. I still have a problem, however.

Books are everywhere, and always the same sense of adventure fills us. Second-hand books are wild books, homeless books; they have come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which the domesticated volumes of the library lack. – Virginia Woolf

When I look at the remaining pile of books, the pile designated “to keep,” it occurs to me that it is still pretty large. This becomes especially clear as I start to load them into boxes. First of all, books are way too heavy. I need to spread them out through many boxes to ensure that the box is liftable. Secondly, this means I will have far too many boxes.

Bookshelf

I am calling in favors when it comes to the storage of the things I intend to keep. I am asking friends to donate some of their space to my cause and I greatly appreciate their willingness to lend me some. Now, all of a sudden I am going to show up with six or seven boxes? Boxes which I will have to carry to and from cars, mind you. It might be too much.

I am faced with a dilemma. Do I hold onto my books and maintain my library even though, if needed, I can purchase all these books again in the future (you know, when I’m disgustingly wealthy)? Or do I maintain my resolve and attempt to store them?

A room without books is like a body without a soul. – Cicero

If this plan of mine all goes to shit quickly and I need to set up an apartment, I am going to be sad not to have my books. Even if I remain nomadic for a long time, presumably at some point I will seek out a place of my own again. When that happens, I will be sad not to have my books. Isn’t the entire point of this exercise to push my boundaries and get outside my comfort zone? Maybe that means trimming the fat until I can fit all of my belongings into one carload. Maybe that means abandoning the things that make my home feel like home. OR maybe I should grant myself this one little piece of excess, hold on to this one little piece of my past. Jury’s still out.

I never feel lonely if I’ve got a book – they’re like old friends. Even if you’re not reading them over and over again, you know they are there. And they’re part of your history. They sort of tell a story about your journey through life. – Emilia Fox

Cat Books

After all, bookshelves provide a comfy spot for lounging.

The True Weight of STUFF

March 21, 2018 / / 2 Comments

Facing the challenge of separating myself from my material things

One of the big hurdles I’ve had to overcome as I prepare to leave Denver is coming to terms with having to detach myself from my physical possessions. I like my apartment. I love having my own space and sitting on my comfortable couch surrounded by books I’ve read, art I’ve picked out, and reminders from different times in my life. It is cozy.

In addition to the sheer comfort of it all, I’ve come to realize (partially on my own, partially fleshed out in therapy) that for me, a lot of this stuff means status. Status as a grown up. Status as a successful human. I have things. I am here.

This realization came to me as I started mentally cataloging all my belongings. I can’t hold on to a lot because it doesn’t make sense to pay for storage, and it would also cost money to move things to my mom’s garage in Connecticut. I figured that all of my things need to fit into three categories: Keep, Sell, and Donate. I noticed myself getting stuck on certain items. You’d think those would be the sentimental things. But they weren’t.

Pottery Barn Couch

The couch in question. The apartment has recently been staged by my wonderful realtors.

A little backstory: I have this couch. This big, beautiful, wonderful couch. It was handed down to me over a decade ago by my uncle who is no longer with us. But that couch was important to me even while my uncle was still alive. It is a Pottery Barn couch. Eight feet of cushy, pillowy, wonder. A couch that on no planet would I ever be able to afford to buy new. Honestly, that couch was the only reason I brought any of my furniture to Denver from the East Coast. I refused to relinquish it, and I figured if I was paying to move the couch, I might as well move the other stuff too. Truth be told, the cost of the cross-country movers was less than the original sticker price of the couch.

The point is, I love that couch A LOT. But, I have made my peace with losing the couch. I am ready. It’s fine. Despite this grand victory, I still found myself hesitating when I came across certain items. My food processor. My complete pots and pans set. My wine glasses.

These are all things that can be easily replaced. For the most part (besides a few certain mugs and glasses that I will tuck away), these things are not tied to anything sentimental. Why the struggle?

Status. For some reason, having a fully outfitted kitchen means something to me. It means that I am an adult. It doesn’t matter that I pretty much only ever make the simplest of meals using one pan and one pot. I can make a damn pesto IF I WANT TO. Oh, you’ve come over and you want some wine? Sip it from my beautiful stemless glassware! Aren’t I the growndest?

Kitchen design

Some kitchen wares. Before staging, I had a lot more STUFF.

This is rooted pretty deep. I’m sure most of us experience a degree of this, but I think it may be a little stronger within me.

Growing up as the child of a single, working-class parent in a very wealthy town, it was easy to draw comparisons between my life and the lives of my friends. Growing up, we were the people that didn’t have STUFF (at least not in the way that friends did). Stuff meant success. Stuff meant not white trash. Stuff meant security.

Those comparisons aren’t much different now when I look at the lives of those same friends. So, I cling to my food processor, I cling to my pots and pans, I cling to my wine glasses. I think about the future. If my endeavors don’t go the way I want them to… or even if they do, but I still have to find a place to settle, there will be a time when I get my new place and I won’t have the stuff. I’ll be back to square one. Dorm-style living. Childish living. To a degree, I am anticipating the judgments of others. It’s enough to make me shudder.

The beauty of realizing this, however, is now I can move past it. I can rationalize my way out of it. Stuff doesn’t really add anything. Stuff won’t make me happy. Stuff is not engaging my life on a daily basis. In fact, to a degree, stuff is holding me down. With every piece I purge, either by selling or donating, I feel a little lighter. Even my beloved couch, which cradles me and gives me support regularly, is holding me down. In order to get anything done, I need to move away from the couch. It is a place of comfort, but not a place of forward momentum. So, I say goodbye to the couch. I say goodbye to the fully equipped kitchen.

I say hello to putting the idea of comfort behind me, in the hopes that being on high alert in new, strange places will ignite something that has long been lying dormant.

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