Today I quit the gym. One more month of Zen Pilates on Wednesdays and Zen Yoga on Fridays, and then my card won't work any more. I've been going there for 5 years, not religiously, not fanatically, always slightly dishevelled looking, but regularly, at least. I've hated on all jock-y personal trainers, been embarrassed by a room full of nakedness, gotten athlete's foot, fell flat on my face and avoided the V-box class like the plague. It's not like I'm quitting exercise in order to join The People of Walmart or anything, I am just moving to Germany for, well, at least 2 years.
This means a lot of admin. I hate admin. I wish there was no bureaucracy, no paperwork, only (if need be) easy online forms that are designed so that a 6-year-old could fill them out. I would like not to feel like a criminal every time I need to complete paperwork, or to have my mom vouch for me as soon as I need to apply for the silliest things.
At the moment I am sorting (read throwing away) through my CDs, putting books in boxes and seeing which stuff could go to the less fortunate. Strange how we are all hoarders somehow. Not as excessive as the TV show, but we hang on to things because we're afraid without objects of memory we won't be able to remember everything. Maybe that is a good thing though. Maybe not every incident of life need to be enshrined somewhere in our brains.
It is rather emotional, this throwing away of things. I look at the Celine Dion CDs I took along on our trip of Mayan pyramids in Mexico as a child. After two weeks of almost exclusively Celine (I also packed Disney's Greatest Hits Vol. I and II), no one liked her any more. I find clumsy artworks, old photographs, a stack of SL magazines. It is hard to decide what to keep and what to let go, because somewhere in me there is a nagging voice constantly saying: "But you might need that again, someday."
This moving away is harder than I thought. I am like a manic depressive, changing from being elated to nostalgic, teary-eyed and battling against a wave of sadness. Here is where my people are, it is home.
And although I've been all like 'needtoleaveneedtoleaveneedtoleave', actually leaving my very comfortable nest makes me almost shit my pants. What if this is a bad idea. What if everyone is stupid. What if I am the stupid one. What if there the sun won't ever shine. What if someone dies, here. What if, what if.
Luckily, my friend Michael left me with great advice : No experience is wasted.
Better make the best of what I have here, still, and what awaits.