Life as an Extreme Sport

Life in a UHaul

I drove out of one state, through another, and into the new state I’ll be calling home today. The entire way down, I was aware of all of my possessions, my entire home, ‘on my back’ behind me (well, in the UHaul I was sitting in). It was a somewhat eerie and odd feeling; the last four times I’ve moved, I either wasn’t driving the UHaul (on my cross-country move), or they were in-town moves where I just used my car. And the last time I did use a UHaul – a decade ago – it was before I returned to academia, and I had few books.

The process of loading the UHaul was interesting. It’s very neat and organized and orderly in the very front (Grandma’s Attic/ part closest to the cab) of the truck, but by the back of the truck, you can see that a combination of tired and fuck it has set in, and it’s all sorts of chaos and “shove it in there” mentality.

I was thinking of this, between finishing emptying out the apartment, joking about it being a bag of holding, and cleaning on the way out. (Cleaning is another topic entirely – how often do we think our place is clean without realizing how dirty it would be if we took it apart completely?) There is always a point in moving I reach, where the best idea is just burning it all to ashes and moving without whatever things it is that are inspiring this feeling. But rational thought always takes over – not greed; I threw out quite a bit this move, and I’m sure I will continue to as I reevaluate on this end – but practicality. Lamps are necessary. Clothes are necessary. If I want to continue as an academic, some concession to books are necessary. These are all items and pieces of the kind of life I want, and in two weeks when the bruises and cuts and scrapes have healed, I’ll be happy to have the tools I need to continue to pursue my academic, professional, and personal goals. (More importantly, perhaps, my body in general will be happy I still have all the concessions that I’ve made to the RSD/CRPS.)

Still, it’s hard not to remember a more flighty and carefree life, the one before I decided I wanted to pursue study as a way of life. Then again, this was also a life I had before chronic pain; perhaps the two are related.