For a month now I’ve been listening to the shipping forecast and watching the shipping charts. I’ve been following the journey of one ship in particular. It has a German name, is flying a Japanese flag, is being piloted by a Greek company, and its last port was on the east coast of the US. Somewhere in that ship, in a large wooded crate, are the rest of my belongings.
In 1989 my then partner and I left the home we’d been living in for 8 years. It was the longest I’d ever lived in one place and leaving it set off a wave of panic attacks. I need solid ground under me and there is nothing solid about leaving the comfort of the familiar. Maybe in some larger plan there was sense to the following years because since then I’ve moved on a near yearly basis, sometimes twice a year. Rarely did I migrate in the same direction, or in the same country, or continent.
On each of these moves I shed more of my belongings, sometimes with regret. When my walkabouts reached global proportions what was left of my things went into storage. It’s been more than a dozen years since I’ve seen them and since then they’ve seen the inside of two storage facilities, a friend’s barn, and a friend’s cellar. I miss these things. Yes, I know they are “just” things – but what remains of them is more than memories. They are part of what I lost some time ago – the comfort of the familiar.
Chart courtesy of www.sailwx.info
www.sailwx.info - what a fascinating website. I never knew it existed. Thank you so much for the link. I do hope your wooded crate and its contents arrive intact. "Things" are an important part of our sense of security, particularly noticeable when we are separated from them and their familiar surroundings for a long time. They may just be "things", but they are also old and trusted friends.
Posted by: RJ Adams | 09 April 2007 at 01:39 PM
Maybe one misses things more when they are not still in boxes in the basement but in boxes in someone else's basement. I feel a sort of guilt when unpacking a box years after moving I see what I have neglected to cherish.
Posted by: CdV | 11 April 2007 at 09:31 PM
A dozen years. That's time capsule material. It will be fascinating to see if they have new stories to tell you. How will they arrive? Will you pick them up when the ship docks, or will they go onto a truck or some other mode of transport?
Posted by: Beth Westmark | 13 April 2007 at 06:31 PM
There you are! So good to see a post from you, Susanne. Unfortunately, I have enough stuff accumulated to scare the beJesus out of my kids who know they will have to get rid of it one day if I don't. Having a minimalist life sure makes it easier to stay in the moment though, doesn't it?
Posted by: Fran aka Redondowriter | 17 April 2007 at 11:53 PM
I wish you the very best in reclaiming these items. I agree with Cdv: many new memories await as well!
Posted by: MICHAEL MANNING | 23 April 2007 at 11:38 PM
'Things' remind us where, when, who and how. Such memories are priceless.
Posted by: herhimnbryn | 29 April 2007 at 01:14 PM
Oh, this has meaning for me at the moment. My possessions haven't been round the world but a number of them have been in storage for several months. I missed them too and for similar reasons.
I wonder if yours have arrived yet .....
Lovely post, as always.
Posted by: mm | 03 May 2007 at 11:07 AM
When one is around objects, especially very old objects they seem to transmit their history, by a method beyond our present knowledge and understanding? Do we get attachments to objects we own , because they literally become a part of us and those around us? They somehow absorb minute parts of our energy fields? Your site is as magical and hard to forget as Wales………Peace
Posted by: David | 18 May 2007 at 11:46 PM
Good luck. Been there, done that. Thirteen and a half years for one batch of my life. I cried over what was there and what was missing. Then 6 years for another batch. Again, an ex had been into it and so much was missing and much was ruined since he repacked it, stupidly. Don't put anything copper between evening dresses and send it on a sea voyage. But even if I had to pitch half of it, it felt so good to have my life in one place in one country again.
Posted by: Angeluna | 25 June 2007 at 10:35 PM
Abyss jumping. Sourround sound of a voice full of curious wine. And still, you resonate a horizontal imagination. A plateau of just cause. Because of you- taking it, moment by moment.
Posted by: confusiuseoul | 09 December 2008 at 03:08 PM