my small life here
with a drawing of an unknown plant
It is raining here, as it should be in March in Portland, Oregon. All winter it has not been raining, and the sun has felt glorious, but also wrong, like I am stealing, somehow, from the forests that will burn this summer in the drought.
This summer, when I will no longer live here.
Some days I feel elated at the idea of the comparatively tiny house (1200 sq ft) that we are moving into. So far, I am not missing anything we’ve gotten rid of, and more and more things are feeling optional when I pick them up. After months of shoveling things out the door—except you can’t shovel, because the things need to be sorted, one tiny bit at a time, unless you really just want it all to go, which Jim sometimes thinks he does, but I don’t, at least not yet; there are too many small things I still know I love—but after months, then, of painstakingly sorting things and sending many of them out the door, I do feel lighter. Lighter, and tired.
I still know where we’re going, and why, and I know that there are people I love, and other people I will come to love, on the other side of the country waiting for us. And I know there are people I love here, whom I am leaving.
And there is still so. Much. To. Do. I feel very wrapped up in my small life here, at a time in our history when it might be almost criminal to be wrapped up in my own life. My life feels like more than I can handle many days, especially when I feel the logistics of all this wearing on me, and I slide into a sense of irritable failure that makes it hard to be present with my little people, especially the littlest one, who still wants to howl like a puppy and have me pause whatever I am doing to inquire why she is howling, and kneel down to look her in the eyes and say, “poor, poor puppy…”
And also, today, I feel sad.
Today, then, just one drawing, in the beautiful hand-made journal Theresa gave me, that felt too lovely to use for a long time, but now I am using it.
My favorite writer. This is so beautiful. Thank you for putting into words how I feel about the lack of rain this winter too! I love you and will miss knowing you’re close by…even tho I never did much about it. Feelings are for feeling…what I always told my kids. Enjoy the lightness of leaving things behind. Xo
Do not go gentle into that exhausting move. Rage, rage against the sorting of the things.
I'm biased, but I love your drawings. This one feels like a little act of defiance against the exhaustion. Nevertheless, she drew.
Things I'm learning I've loved the most from the culling: books, a childhood bunny rabbit, some games we haven't really had a chance to play, and more books. I advocated for only having four feet worth of books each. I'm glad we're both breaking that rule.