Without a Ding Dong Thing On My Mind

I've heard that moving is the third most stressful event in a person's life, right behind death and divorce (I'm assuming that death refers to others rather than yourself, because I can't see myself caring too much once I'm dead). I'm going to postulate that finding a new place, getting through all of the paperwork, working out payment plans, packing all of your stuff, moving all of your stuff, unpacking all of your stuff, and organizing all of your stuff is indeed a serious pain in the hindquarters, I do not believe that this is the root of the stress.

I know this because I too have recently moved, of sorts, and have begun purging and preserving my things from the ground up. It is the first time I have ever done a complete inventory on myself, and it was a hell of a ride. I found the first toy I ever had as a baby, the first of many successive waves of toy fads that I went through. I needed to up the Ritalin for my inner child as I sorted through the stuffed animals, the Star Wars Micro Machines, the Mighty Max playsets (does anyone else remember these?!), and the random action figures from various yard and rummage sales. I suppose at least a shard of my childish innocence remains intact (an amazing discovery to be sure) since I ended up playing with almost every single one as I picked it up. I missed those carefree days when my daily schedule rarely got more complicated than sitting in the yard and digging a hole with a stick.

The the real memory trip began with the pictures. I know it's redundant to state the powerful effect that photos have on memories...but goddamn! Yearbooks from fifth grade up until I graduated high school, and all of the personal candid shots that breathed even more life to them. Looking back at pictures of my friends before I even knew who they were made me stop and think how funny it is how relationships work between people. Two people can live totally seperate lives, completely ignorant of one another's existence, and then one day they happen to meet and from then on the two paths converge, at least for a time.

For every picture of a classmate that I looked at, an accompanying memory came free, an intellectual 2-for-1 sale. It's amazing how they link togther to create a chain of events that at the time seem ludicrous. The first girl that I ever had a crush on. My best friends who introduced me to video games, Weird Al, and James Bond. How would I know that the little girl in a moppy haircut and sweater that was too big for her would be resting her head on my shoulder at the prom and sticking her tongue down my throat during the balmy summer nights that followed our graduation?

Just recounting this stuff for the second time today is causing me to drift back into nostalgia: the most bittersweet of emotions. Sure, we get that warm, mushy feeling inside when we think of past happiness, but in the same breath, it reminds us that that happiness is no longer there, as per its nature. That girl who danced cheek-to-cheek with me is no longer around, and my friends are scattered about the four corners of the country. I miss these people in my quiet moments sometimes, but only rarely. Today, I think about friends I've made since then and what we're going to do this weekend. Old girlfriends are eclipsed by newer ones, and the prospect of hooking up with that gal that I've started noticing trumps them all. And even though I am content with where my life is right now, I cannot help but feel a small sting of I don't know what; call it regret, sentimentality, or simply growing up, but it's there. It is always there to remind me that things can change at the drop of a hat, and even if you have the best laid plans, you still will be surprised with where you are in five, ten, or twenty years.

That's why moving sucks.