The strangely mellow accent of the singer Nico is playing as I write this. Earlier this evening we watched It’s a Wonderful Life and, like I do every year, I shed a few tears at the end of it. An odd phenomena: every year I watch that movie (I nearly have it memorized) and every year I know what’s coming ahead in the plot. Yet every year some tears sneak out of my eyes, despite the guard of my eyelids.

I decided to upgrade to a larger suitcase now that I’m here at home and it is an option. Also, I decided that there are more books I’d like to have along. But this same question that I encountered over a month ago is pushing me again and I have no idea how to properly answer it: How do you pack for three years? What bits of your life can you simply pick up and throw into a suitcase? That leads my mind down the track of: What is life really? It might seem like the eternal question when you first hear it, but I think a simple answer is to say that life, in its essence, is more than the sum of its parts. What is my life? Is it the fact that I breathe? Is it the fact that I am conscious? Sentient? Or is it the fact that I am able to navigate this life which is full of other people who are basically experiencing what I am? So, getting back to the original question, how do I throw my life into three bags and take it to the airport on Wednesday? Where can I put the scent of hay that has been stored in the barn or the smell of the woodsmoke drifting out of the chimney on a clear, subzero winter night? Where can I stuff my friends and the places where we used to hang out? Will those fit in the outside compartment? Ah well, there’s a lot I’m leaving here and there will be a lot that I miss, but I’m very excited to get to the airport soon. As Jack Kerouac wrote, “The road is life.”

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2 thoughts on “”

  1. Do you think thats why we watch?? Knowing somthing is sad or upseting or even somthing that is happy and we know it coming in still just as good. I think its the same in life, you can know somthing that is totally predictable but it still upsets you or makes you really happy and excited. I love the way you write because its real and talks in a way that make you think. “Great literature is simply language charged with meaning to the utmost possible degree.” said by Ezra Pound.

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