I've been living out of my suitcases for two and a half weeks now, which no doubt is contributing to my continuing sense of being itinerant and unsettled.  I still don't quite believe that I'm back and I'm staying.  I'm slowly acquiring things - a mobile phone, a place to stay in Baltimore - that help create some sense of stability, of having connections here, but there's nothing like waking up every morning to the sight of an open suitcase on the floor to make me feel like I'm just passing through.  

One of the unexpected benefits of this feeling is a stunning lack of sentimentality about most of my possessions.  When I've been at my parents' place, I have been ruthlessly culling the stuff I have stored in their basement.  I've gleefully been tossing things I'd held on to for years, suddenly seeing them less as remembrances and more as encumbrances.  I feel as if I'm shedding a skin, scraping off something that no longer fits, that slows me down.  Filling another bag with the detritus of my life and dragging it off to the trash or to Goodwill, I feel lighter and easier, even as my arms and shoulders ache with the effort of hauling awkward burdens up and down stairs.   

It isn't all fun.  As I peel through the layers of my life, I keep stumbling across reminders of my friend, who has been very much on my mind lately, for many reasons.  It was the anniversary of his death earlier this week; I've been back in Baltimore, which is inextricably wrapped up with my memories of him; and I've been seeing friends who need to know how I'm doing, how I'm dealing, what the past year has been like for me.  So on top of these emotional reminders, I am unpacking boxes and finding things - a photograph, a mix tape, a big fuzzy sweater - tangible evidence that when I packed those boxes, he was very much present in my life.  I have not felt his absence this strongly in many months, and it's hard to revisit that loss. Especially when it's a surprise, when I don't have time to brace myself.  I just pull a handful of stuff out of a box, and there it is - some piece of our relationship. 

I know I need to do this.  It feels right to be doing this digging and discarding and remembering.  And overall, the positive effects of going through and getting rid of things far outweigh the negative.  But it does leave me feeling wrung out.