Girl on the Move.

When I was 11 I packed my life into two suitcases and moved with half my family from Australia to the United States.

When I was 14 I packed up two suitcases and moved by myself from the United States back to the west coast of Australia.

When I was still 14 the other half of my family and I moved from the west coast of Australia to the east coast of Australia.

Two days after my 15th birthday, I backed my life back into two suitcases and left east coast Australia to move back to east coast United States.

Two weeks after I turned 18, I packed up one car load of belongings and moved to New York City.

When I was 23, I packed my life into three suitcases, left New York City and moved to Los Angeles.

Confused yet?

TL:DR? I'm not a stranger to a long distance move.

I'm now 26 and here I am again backing my life into just three suitcases.

I have to be out of my apartment in just under a weeks time, and I'm in the process of selling, donating and packing my California life away. I can already picture myself old and grey, talking about the two years I spent in my little beach house.

One half of me is used to this, so void of attachment to items that I barely bat an eyelid. The other half had a little cry the other week after selling my TV because my Mum bought it for me as a housewarming gift, or after giving away a pair of beach chairs my ex and I used to utilize daily just a summer ago.

There is something oddly cathartic about donating a bridesmaid dress I bought for my once best friends wedding, never wearing it due to a falling out before the date. I had been holding on to it for god knows what reason. Maybe because it was $200 and it seemed a shame to donate it away, maybe because I had the space so why not. Those reasons don't seem to matter when it's time to squish your life back in to three suitcases.

Weird things make me emotional as well, like giving up the cellphone number I have had since I was 15. Every now and then I'll get a random text from a friend from years ago, just popping in to say Hi because they came across my number. Giving that up does something weird to my heart.

Oh well, stuff is just stuff at the end of the day.

I'll never forget the uncomfortable boxspring my Mum and I bought from a store in Astoria my first day in New York, my first piece of all mine furniture. I'll never forget the grey sectional that just got walked out of my apartment door by a father and son duo, new to the area trying to furnish there new home with my old memories. It was my first real big girl purchase that I spent a good amount of money on because I had moved beyond my Ikea and Craigslist days.

Stuff is just stuff, but it holds some pretty great memories.

Now if you do excuse me, I am going to go sit on my living room floor, drink a bottle of gifted Rose and wallow.

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