Packing out and Foreign Service life…

The emotional roller-coaster of moving.

Foreign Service life is like ocean waves… it consists of constant change… moving to and moving from places to begin a new life in new environs, whether this be back home or abroad.

A long time ago, I remember reading a State Department assessment of traumatic moments in people’s lives: number one was a death in the family, number two was a divorce, and number three was a move.

My family is now faced with another pack-out: we’re moving back to the US after being abroad 6 years. Reflecting on this old analysis, I think I tend to agree, even though a move affects people in different ways. Some look forward to the change, some resist the future change, and others accept it as an inevitable part of an expat’s life.

Man is a creature of habit…and a move represents a major Tectonic shift of the plates that anchor us to our daily lives, whether we like it or not.

Through the years, more experienced “moving experts” have told me that it only gets easier with time. I find this to be an outright lie. It doesn’t get any easier as we get older. The only difference is that, with time under our wings, we tend to accept what’s happening, and no longer fret as we used to. My experience: I hate giving up control of my life. Knowing that I need to organize the household for the pack-out gives me a false sense of control. The reality is that I am engaging in a gambling game. Making last minute decisions as to what I need to sort out and keep, because it is important and essential that I keep around (i.e., tax documents, insurance documents, mortgage documents, wills, marriage license, birth certificates, medical records, dog vaccination records, etc., etc.), gives me a sense of control… But, in the back of my mind, I know I am missing something… and, in the scheme of things, whether I carry with me all these documents, should there be a catastrophic accident, my world will continue despite the loss of these documents…

I then worry about the “valuables”… We all attach some “value” to our personal belongings. In my case, I no longer value jewelry and unique objects like art or antiques. After a huge robbery in Italy, of our most precious possessions, I no longer attach any value to material things. The most precious possessions, for me, are the videos of my children growing up, and the photographs of a lifetime. In a move, the consideration has to be: do I have copies of the videos, and negatives or copies of the myriad family photos should they be destroyed en route?…

I guess the reason why a move is considered trauma number three in the old State Department study is that, every time we move, we are uprooted… The little fragile tendrils we grow in a new place are all of a sudden -and without much thought- yanked away. Yes, we do have warning. After all, we know that we are being sent to a place for a limited time. But, as human beings, we become attached to our neighborhood, work, school, and new friends.

There are many discourses written about how to prepare for the perfect move. I wish I could practice what these reams of paper preach. I know that if I started sorting out old paper and old clothes early on, I would not be facing the monumental task of doing so at the last minute. My fault. Yet, what all these “guides” fail to address is the emotional toil it takes going through filing cabinets and closets to taper down on a lifetime accumulation of memories…and yes, a lifetime accumulation of memories can happen after only 3 years of living in a new place.

Who but an idiot would keep ALL the Christmas cards sent by family, friends, and total unknowns, just because reading them 2-3-4 years later they trigger special memories of a time gone by… Who but an idiot would keep ALL the children’s school papers because they capture unique times in their kids’ lives… Who but an idiot would keep ALL the little Kinder Eggs collection of penguins and dolphins and crocodiles and other cutsey plastic animals because they bring back memories of a time when the children were happy and awed by their experience in a different country…

I guess that idiot is me. Why can’t I let go? Life would be more organized and orderly if I didn’t attach so much sentimentality to these inconsequential items. And I would not have to spend agonizing time trying to reduce the amount of “junk” that the packers will have to deal with…

But then, 25+ years in the Foreign Service have been compartmentalized in increments of 2-3-4 years of living in different places. I relate to my children’s childhood and teen-age years based on where we lived during those years. And anything that can trigger any memory of those times is very precious… because, living incrementally, does create a blur. So I am unapologetic if some mock me for clinging to banalities… Next Tuesday, when the movers come, I will be carting off those old Christmas cards from 25+ years, plus those silly Kinder Eggs critters… just because they bring a crooked smile and a tear in the eye…