Back to Two Bags

A new life is ready for those brave enough to let go of their old one. 

When I first came to New Zealand, I packed a couple bags with six months in mind. One was stuffed with outdoor gear and the other stuffed with normal clothes, my computer, and my camera. I had no idea where I would settle and I needed to be able to carry everything I had. 

Packing those two bags was simple. My childhood bedroom stored the boxes of  life that I would come back to. A complete set of dishes, spices, clothes, linen, books, bowling pins, croquet, ice skates. The boxes were neatly organised underneath my raised mattress. My skis tucked away in the corner. Shelves lined with books. A rocking chair sat next to my desk. 

I have forgotten why I liked those dishes. I can’t remember one book title. Each time I have visited this storage room, I’m alway astonished by what I deemed so important to hold onto. Each time, I cleared out nearly a carload of things. Things that wouldn’t serve anyone being stored underneath my bed. But with each visit, that storage room reminded me: the things we keep aren’t always what we still need.

Humans are hoarders. Collecting things makes us feel secure, comfortable, wealthy, fashionable. Our possessions reveal our status and contribute to our reputation. They are the physical reflection of our choices and values. 

Now I’m reflecting on the purchases of my last 5 years as I condense down again for another international move. What do my possessions say about the last 5 years of living in a small town in Te Tai Tokerau? 

One thing is obvious, I have accumulated a lot of shit. 

I desperately wanted to settle in New Zealand and clung onto anything that made my space feel more like a home. Books, games, even a piano found their way through my doors, each one a small attempt to turn a house into something more like home. Craving a home with more art, I painted until my house was completely decorated by my canvases. My shelves were full of my passion projects, baking, making lotion, and knitting. 

These items weren’t just material to me, they represented my identity - a musician, an artist, a baker, a scientist, a gardener. These were all different sides of Claire, sides I want to know more. But with an international move ahead, I can only keep what I can carry. I’ve had to let go of my piano, my art easel, my paint, my tinctures, and my spade. 

A deep breathe and a prayer slips my lips when each of those items moved on to its next owner. I pray that a piece of myself is not tied to that material thing, but found within, waiting to be discovered in something else, something better that is yet to come. 

I’ve already made sure my next rental space has a piano I can play. A few music books fit nicely in one of my bags, right next to my outdoor gear, my camera, and a few clothes. What I carry now isn’t just gear or books - but skills and passions as well. In my journey accumulation of stuff, I gained deeper human character. Material of the soul is much lighter to carry than any piano.