On the road again…
The chorus of a Willie Nelson song is running through my head, “On the road again, I just can’t wait to get on the road again…” It’s resonating with my current state of affairs, the fact that we’re moving, yet again (our third move in 10 months). First we were on the island of Lidingo then Stocksund and now we’re headed to Bergshamra in Solna.
When it comes to living in Sweden there are some unique challenges with housing. Finding a house is tough and then dealing with the house can be even tougher. Most people I know have issues with their plumbing or electricity or mold (in our case it was all three).
Moving again, however, means packing up all of my life’s belongings. It’s work. It’s energy. It’s facing things that I don’t want to face, like that junk drawer that formed literally overnight. How does this stuff self-produce? I swear, the twist ties and broken hotel pens and pieces of paper jammed in my drawers along with forgotten grocery lists, to-do lists and recipes I never got around to making, follow me no matter where I go.
Still there are heavier things to pack–scrapbooks, photo albums, memories of the places I’ve been, the people I’ve know and some I’ve lost, memories I must take with me. When you live in a place a long time, things can get hidden. Then when you move you must drag all of it out, into the open and there, in effect, see what has been growing inside your hermit shell. Emptying every nook and cranny, every cupboard and closet, you feel the full weight of time, what has past and what is gone and you start to wonder about what might lay ahead.
There are things I’ve kept but a lot I’ve let go of, there’s just not room or space for it all. And maybe that’s a good thing. If there is a silver lining to be found, it’s this, count them: Malachi, Micah, Jonah, Maggie and Cooper, the five people that come with me. The address makes no difference; I can always count on these incredible individuals to be by my side. We unpack, we laugh, we argue about what goes where, who gets the biggest room, and what’s to be done with the stuff that won’t fit anymore. We sit exhausted on cardboard boxes and eat pizza, enjoying the view (whatever it is) and talk about, of all the places we’ve lived, which one has been the best—we can never agree.
Eventually, I’ll hang artwork. Inevitably, I’ll get lost. We’re almost guaranteed to have some problems with the house, but equally as certain to discover things we love and don’t know how we lived without. I’ll buy more stuff from IKEA and later, when it’s ready, when the house is a home, we’ll invite friends. I know it will be great; it will be, because the people I love and friends I’ve yet to even meet, will be there with me.