Today I am going to clean my closet. My sister has planned for a clothing swap with some of our friends this afternoon in order to get rid of things we don’t use, and perhaps gather a few new, and free pieces for our wardrobe. Whatever isn’t selected will be donated to a charity. I feel rather hesitant to look through my closet, and a little bit sad.
My husband and I are moving to England at the end of March and it’s becoming real, slowly but surely. During the month of March we will need to pack up the few things we want to keep, transport it to my parent’s house to store them, donate the things we don’t need, and sell off all our possessions. We will be flying away from Vancouver, and our life here in the very near future.
It’s a strange feeling saying good-bye, saying you’ll miss them, saying you don’t know when the next time you’ll see someone will be.
It’s easy to say good-bye to the drudgery of paying the same bills, shopping at the same stores, seeing the same scenery, driving the same commute, coming home to the same 490 square foot apartment, watching the same TV programs.
It will be wonderful to live somewhere new, meet new people, have new experiences, travel the English countryside, frequent quaint pubs, shop at Waitrose, and have Europe at our back door.
But it is so hard to say good-bye.
I feel like when I choose a sweater for the clothing swap, I’m saying good-bye to yet another old friend, a friend that has been there for me; a friend that I have such fond memories of the day we met (Sak’s Fifth Avenue, New Year’s Day, 70% off sale). The purple Marc Jacobs sweater (with double-breasted buttoning) has been worn to many special events (weddings, Bat Mitzvah’s, Easter celebrations, dinner’s out), and has become like a good friend, a friend that covered up a red-wine stain on a white blouse. But it is such a bulky sweater that takes up half my suitcase, so I must say good-bye.
I’m only allowed one bag, and it must be under 60 pounds or I will have to pay an additional baggage fee. So I must be very selective about what I bring along.
I feel good about passing on the clothing I don’t use to someone who will appreciate it, and wear it, and love it. In fact, I will only give it to them if they promise to love it. It is exactly like when you find out your child is allergic to cats and must find a new home for him. You care what happened to him, and you want to make sure the person who adopts your cat will love him and appreciate him the way you did.
Good-bye sweater. I loved you.