moving is awful.
there — I said it.
When I thought of moving to a new place with my significant other as a kid, it was romanticized and lovely. We had sleepovers in the new, empty place, — cuddling up on sleeping bags, sharing chinese takeout, drinking cheap red wine and using candles to hangout. I'm a hopeless romantic. Sappy and proud.
But moving is nothing like that. There was no sleepover or chinese takeout. There was a ton of eating out though. And stress. And money.
Perhaps I’m naive, but I’m 23 — so why shouldn’t I be? I didn’t realize the amount of time, stress + money that went into moving. The time packing and unpacking and organizing. The time looking at all of the “stuff” you’ve collected — so many things that you really don’t need, but at the time, you saw it as interesting and useful and contributing to your aesthetic. Nope. It’s not — it’s collecting dust in your storage room, and now you don’t know what to do with it.
Like I said — moving is awful.