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'.
When I moved to Sydney, I put everything I deemed essentially me in storage at my mom's house. Ten years later I felt a relationship to almost none of it. :P I'm pretty ruthless now with my material possessions, although I was very happy to see some of my old stuff again, and it wasn't the stuff I would've thought at the time.
ReplyDeleteI'll be really interested to see what Future Carmel makes of my long term storage choices.
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