Monday 25 November 2013

All packed up

Following my recent ponderings on the meaning of home, I can now report that I have fully moved out of mine. Last weekend I (with the help of two buff removalists and my friend Alex) moved all of my belongings (apart from a few boxes and suitcases) into a little storage unit.


Here is the new 'home' for all my stuff! After a swift game of tetris it looked like this:


Amazing. With my boxes thoroughly labeled and anything breakable safely stowed on top, I popped a padlock on the door and that's it until January 2015. I paid for a full year up front and I'm now officially the littlest hobo. I'm staying in a friend's spare room for a couple of weeks and then I'll be housesitting for my friend Ky who is going overseas for the month of December.

My first task post-move was the unenviable one of cleaning the old apartment. Three evenings in a row scrubbing away left it spick and span in time to receive my full deposit back. All I will say is that cleaning venetian blinds is the ninth circle of hell.


Farewell Harrow Road. 

Now I feel a little displaced and I'm finding it most disconcerting that things aren't where I expect them to be. Everything's taking me twice as long and I'm realising that I've packed some things away that it would be really handy to have access to right now. I guess this is going to take some getting used to!

I'm glad I've got the opportunity for a 'phased' approach to downsizing though, otherwise it might have felt like too much of a shock.

Only 19 days left at work! Can't quite believe it.

Thursday 14 November 2013

Patience

Somehow time speeds up as the departure date draws near...

Monday 11 November 2013

Home

Much of the last few weeks has been taken up with packing my belongings into cardboard boxes and labelling them clearly for storage. 'KITCHEN: baking stuff, casserole dish, teapots'; 'KITCHEN: glassware'; 'BOOKS: arts and crafts, exhibition catalogues'; 'BOOKS: theatre and poetry', 'BOOKS: film criticism, Calvin & Hobbes'... and so on and so forth.

Next Saturday at 8am removalists will bring their van and take my worldly possessions to a storage unit in Camperdown, where they will reside at least until early January 2015. This transition towards ever-decreasing circles of belongings, combined with the gradual stripping of my rented flat of the elements which make it feel 'mine' has inevitably led to a great deal of introspection.

I have thoroughly enjoyed living on my own for the last 18 months, having my own place and making it a home. Over the years I've assembled a range of fabulous furniture, vintage pieces, kitsch crap and gorgeous homewares that make it feel as though my personality shines through my rooms. I love having people over to dinner, afternoon tea, drinks or general chit chat and welcoming them into my space, sharing my home. Which poses the question: what is 'home'? And how much do we define ourselves through our belongings?







As I find myself further down the track of reducing my day-to-day existence to that which can fit into a single backpack, I'm applying closer scrutiny to the 'stuff' which I deem important enough to pay for over a year's worth of storage. When I get back, will I still want this around me as much as I do now? Will I even remember it exists?

As someone who has already successfully uprooted my life and moved to another hemisphere, I feel I have a knack for feeling 'at home' wherever I am. In a way, as long as I have a bicycle, a library, a place where I can get good coffee and a bunch of fab people I can drink, eat and laugh with, I can consider a place 'home'. Even within a city the act of changing suburbs can feel like starting afresh, as you get to know a new place and your new haunts.

Unlike some people, who insist on going back to the same place for their annual summer holidays, I feel the need to shake my life up like this on a regular basis. I fear becoming stale and stuck in a rut. When I was a kid I'd get bored every now and then and completely move my bedroom furniture around. As an adult I'll move house to a new suburb or city. And ever so often (every 6 or 7 years it seems), the impulse is stronger. I've never understood the meaning of the word 'homesick'.

For the next year, like the proverbial snail, I shall carry my 'home' in this:



... a 50-litre bag. I shall be welcomed into the homes of others, I shall make my home wherever I land. I shall probably feel displaced, I shall wonder where 'home' truly is.

Perhaps 'home' is a state of mind. I know I feel at home in the house of every close friend and family member. Wherever I am right now is home. But I still have a tendency to build a nest when I settle somewhere. Let's see if I can make a temporary existence on the road feel like 'home'.

Friday 1 November 2013

Funds

When the seed of this idea planted itself in my mind I had no savings and about $10,000 worth of credit card debt, so the whole idea felt a little impossible, financially. I did some initial research into what kind of budget I should aim for in each country, roughly how long I thought I was going to be in each place, an estimate of how much free accommodation I could blag, any 'big ticket' items like SXSW and what expenses I would have in addition to daily expenditure (eg visas, backpack, flights, vaccinations, storage while I'm away etc). I then started a savings plan and implemented 'Carmel's Austerity Measures' which I've successfully lived off for the last year.


Some of it was just about learning how to say 'no' to myself, a concept which I found hard to grasp at first (eg, 'No, you can't go to see Fleetwood Mac in the Hunter Valley' *sadface*). Other elements were more enjoyable, such as really getting to grips with using my slow cooker, making huge vats of stew, soup or beans and then freezing them in individual portions. Gleefully eating yellow spit pea and bacon soup which cost me less than $1 per portion when others were spending $10 on their lunch every day gave me a warm, smug feeling. I also grew my own lettuce and herbs, cycled to work every day, bulk-bought wine and managed to go a whole year only buying one new dress and one pair of boots. (Rediscovering old items of clothing in my wardrobe was way more fun anyway!) It's amazing how ruthless you can be when assessing whether to make an impulsive purchase or save yourself a day's budget on the road. The trip won every time.


I also cooked up ways to earn more income. I took my RSA (Responsible Service of Alcohol: mandatory here if you want to work in a bar), I guest lectured at various colleges, taught a whole semester for an arts management degree and finally got to grips with eBay. It's amazing how I can eke money out of things that have been stuffed under my bed for years or rolled up in a tube in the corner of the room.

Now my departure date is drawing near I'm tracking well towards budget. I've paid off my debt and managed to save $15,000. I still have quite a way to go before I reach my target, so I'm leaving my apartment in a couple of weeks, putting my stuff into storage early and couch-surfing/house-sitting for the last couple of months in Sydney. Last weekend I decided to join the Garage Sale Trail and get rid of lots of my clothes and household items.



This is an annual national event where local councils encourage people to register their garage sales and bargain hunters use the Garage Sale Trail app to plan their route around their local area, one sale at a time. In the past I've enjoyed cycling around Paddington, Bondi and Surry Hills, nabbing my own bargains, and chatting to locals about their wares. It instills a sense of community and a spirit of recycling that I really treasure, so I was looking forward to hosting my own garage sale for the first time.

Preparing for a garage sale is no mean feat. I used almost the entire first week of my 2 weeks' leave getting ready for it: sorting through my belongings and deciding what I didn't need, ironing and tagging clothes, preparing how to present my wares. I even enlisted the help of willing friends, often in an advisory role (okay, what I really mean is that I needed Beth to force me to be ruthless with my clothes!). Seriously, I have frocks which I bought more than 10 years ago which I've never worn. How long am I going to 'wait for the right occasion'? This is the end of an era: I need to cull and clean, even if I need a little nudging to actually let go.

The day dawned, and after a 6am start cycling round the neighbourhood putting up last minute posters, I set up shop at the front of the flat. The wonderful Alex and Beth gave their time on this gloriously sunny Saturday to help me raise more money for my trip. Folks stopped by, said hello, bought my 50c crap, ate Kim's delicious brownies, the Garage Sale Trail had begun. It was so fantastic seeing friends stop by and some of them even helped the cause by buying a thing or two.


A mean-spirited neighbour almost ruined my day. She was insistent that I was breaking the law (I wasn't!), she tried to make me pack up and leave (not after putting all that hard work in!), she made my friends cry and get angry (yikes!) and she generally pulled the martyr card and made me feel wretched. As if it isn't hard enough to part with things you've held onto for over half your life, to have someone being mean and shouting at you in front of the whole street, it almost broke me.

My mind turned to car boot sales I would do with my mum when I was a teenager. My two best friends and I would save up all our worthless rubbish and once a year get up at the crack of dawn, and mum would drive us over to Pontefract racecourse for a 6am start. We'd stand in the freezing cold, drinking tea out of a flask and being completely baffled when someone would walk away without purchasing anything. Towards the end of the day, mum would shove everything into a big pile and shout 'everything 10 pence'! and we'd get a rush on. The three of us would then gleefully split our earnings, usually spending every last penny on an annual pilgrimage to Camden Market (where I'm sure we bought more worthless crap which ended up in the next year's car boot sale pile).

The similarities here were that, unless you're selling knocked-off DVDs, the earnings you make don't really justify the hours you put in. I probably averaged out at $5 an hour and that's not counting the efforts of others, which really isn't a good enough ROI in my mind.

Still, I managed to get rid of a whole load of stuff, raise a few bob and complete the heart-wrenching act of sorting through my belongings. A good step in the right direction. Also, the actions of my neighbour made me feel less forlorn about leaving my lovely little flat and becoming the littlest hobo.