Moving out of the only place my son has called home was physically and emotionally challenging. The logistics were overwhelming. Compounding the process was the fact that we simply did not throw everything up in boxes and head out with the intent of unpacking our possessions at our new location. Nope, that would actually have been easy. WE were selling our stuff, giving it away, donating and yes, on a minimum, storing it.
The process took 3 months, several loft sales, hundreds of craigslist ads, qualifying, quantifying our belongings and giving things away. The process was cathartic, and provided the perfect opportunity to assess and reassess what is really important. The last week was the most chaotic and stressful, things going into boxes, the stress of selling everything and trying to make decisions as to what to do with the things we didn’t sell. Moving day approached and most of the big stuff was gone. Little pieces of us all over Los Angeles, several buyers coming back buying multiple items because they liked our style and or our energy. Sunday was moving day and still the washer dryer wasn’t sold and still my beautiful mid-century 12 piece red sectional hadn’t found a home. Low and behold a buyer for both pieces came in between trips and I actually sold the sofa for my asking price . Everything works out in the end.
As the day progressed, Miro and I felt the range of emotions. Trip after trip the 2000 square foot loft we called home for 10 years was changing before our eyes. Memories echoed as loud as the boots of my friend Steve that was lugging boxes to and from the loft to his van. The 2000 feet of our former home, filled with life, possessions, memories, relationships, parties, and many milestones was transforming into a hollow shell of what used to be.
The last time we loaded the van, the last load of boxes left the loft painfully empty, although a few necessities still lingered. One of them was my little portable stereo. Before we walked out for the last time, Miro and I shared a last dance, held each other in our arms and cried together. As one door closes, another opens and that’s what that dance represented to us.
You can view what the loft looked like in 2003, by clicking on this link.