Because I don’t want to give away the burgundy sweater that would be the absolutely perfect thing to wear if I had to attend an afternoon vort on a partly cloudy day in October, when there’s a chance of rain but it’s also slightly breezy.

And I would like to hold on to the shoes that pinch my toes, because they are the perfect shade of tan, the ideal neutral ideal for every outfit in my closet, as long as no walking is required.

The other items in my closet?

If I get rid of all the sweaters that are either too big or too small, what will I wear if I suddenly gain or lose 20 pounds and need to wear sweaters that are at least ten years out of style?

Please don’t ask why I’m emotionally connected to the boots/shirts/jackets that haven’t seen the light of day in three years. One never really knows what tomorrow will bring and maybe I’ll love them again, given the right circumstances.

This culling process has taken much more time and emotional energy than I had anticipated.

And to be honest, packing up is only half the problem.

The other half of the problem is unpacking.

I’ve moved before, so I know exactly what’s coming. Just as you’ve used your very last ounce of energy putting a million things into boxes, you’re required to take those million things out again. At least last time I was able to congratulate myself for having had the foresight to pack a tiny suitcase with a day’s worth of clothing for everyone. Because of that, I was able to postpone the unpacking… indefinitely.

Well, not indefinitely, of course. As a grown-up, I realized that wasn’t a practical option, so I resorted to unpacking at a more leisurely pace. Very shortly thereafter, at around box #30, I decided that whatever wasn’t unpacked by the end of the week would be gifted to anyone who dropped by for a visit.

Welcoming me to the block with a cake?

Thanks so much, here, have a box.

Just stopping by to say hello and check out the new wallpaper?

Here ya go, a box.

Delivering the mail because that’s your job?

A box for you, too, my friend.

Did you receive cleaning supplies?

Winter clothing for a four-year-old boy?

An assortment of Crocs?

Who knows? Either way, it was now yours.

This time around, I am so much cleverer and prepared. I have a moving date, and I’m getting my packing done on a schedule. And since I have a storage garage at my new address, I even sent a few boxes over to the new house to wait patiently in the garage until moving day.

And then my moving day got postponed.

Not to worry, I still have clothing for everyone, but as the weather gets colder and colder, I’m starting to miss sweaters, folded and labeled in a garage I don’t live near just yet. This of course has solidified my belief that procrastination is the way to go, something I’ve subconsciously known all my life.

(Another fun part of moving to a new house is deciding if you should do any home improvements and if so, what they should be. I remember the first time my husband and I had to replace the light fixtures in our apartment, way back, and a friend of ours said, “That sounds like fun! What’s your design style?” And I said, “Traditional” at the exact same moment my husband said, “Contemporary,” which apparently becomes “Tradimporary,” which isn’t actually a thing.)

Not to worry; I’m determined to have a positive attitude about this whole experience and convince myself that it is in fact excitement and not existential dread that I’m feeling deep in my heart as our new moving date gets closer.

I am looking forward to a new space and being able to host friends and family once we get there.

Maybe I’ll even get to give them an unopened box or two when they leave.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 981)