Life is full of transitions—some chosen, some thrust upon us. Moving is one of those transitions that encapsulates both. It’s a physical act, yes, but it’s also an emotional excavation, a reshuffling of memories, a reordering of priorities. Recently, I moved. And in doing so, I realized that moving is not just about boxes and furniture; it’s about what we carry with us—and what we leave behind.

The Ceremony of Sorting

There’s something strangely ceremonial about sorting through your life, piece by piece. Each item becomes a decision: does this come with me, or does it stay? It’s in this sorting that you’re confronted with the weight of the past, the whispers of who you once were, and the life you’ve built since. For me, this process was intertwined with the recent loss of my father, a man who, in many ways, I had already lost years ago to dementia.

The Slow Goodbye

Dementia is a cruel thief. It steals in increments, chipping away at the essence of a person until all that’s left is a shell. By the time my father passed, the man who had been my dad had long since faded. His body remained, but his spirit was like a distant echo. When the time came to say goodbye, I found that I had been grieving him for years already.

Letting Go and Moving On

So, as I packed and sorted during this move, I found myself reflecting on what it means to let go—not just of things, but of people, places, and the versions of ourselves tied to them. There were the keepsakes I had saved without really knowing why. And there was the realization that moving on doesn’t mean forgetting; it means finding a way to carry the essence of someone forward, even as you let go of the rest.

Parting Ways

This move also marked the end of a long-term housemate relationship, a bond that had shaped so much of my daily life. Living with someone for years creates its own lore—shared adventures, inside jokes, the rhythm of sharing space that’s both comforting and, at times, challenging. Deciding to part ways wasn’t easy. It felt like packing up not just belongings, but a chapter of shared experiences, and time passing. The decision was necessary, yet it carried the bittersweet weight of endings.

The Deliberate Nature of Moving

Moving—like grief, like life—isn’t linear. It’s messy, emotional, and sometimes overwhelming. There were moments when I sat on the floor surrounded by boxes, paralyzed by the enormity of it all. But there were also moments of clarity, of lightness, when I felt like I was shedding old skin and stepping into something new.

The thing about moving is that it forces you to be deliberate. You can’t take everything. And maybe that’s a good thing. It’s a chance to start fresh, to reimagine what you want your life to look like. As I settle into this new space, I’m trying to hold onto that mindset. It’s not just about where I’m living; it’s about how I’m living.

Lessons from Loss

My dad’s death, like his life, has shaped me in ways I’m still coming to understand. Losing him twice—first to dementia, then to death—has taught me the importance of presence, of savoring the moments we have while we have them. It’s also taught me that letting go doesn’t mean losing; it means making room for something new.

A New Chapter

So here I am, in this new space, with fewer things but a heart full of memories and lessons. I’ve moved, and I’m moving on.

Life is full of transitions. This is mine. And for the first time in a long time, I feel ready.