Louis Léopold Boilly: The Movings (1822)

" … every damned one of those takes considerable getting used to."

Of all human activities, Moving might be the most illuminating. When Moving, one becomes perhaps both their most vulnerable and their most liberated. Displaced, even temporarily, reveals many hidden edges and allows for much discovery, especially the sort one had sincerely hoped to avoid. Pull a dresser away from a wall and find the remnants of some earlier inattention, like a pair of cobweb-covered underwear. Idealy, Moving should only be attempted in private, but some possessions, like the infamous hide-a-bed, require at least a crew of two to move and, even then, will insist upon opening up when halfway up the stairs. The first and last scenes in many popular stories involve Moving, with the hero leaving on their defining journey and then returning to move on into another realm. There never seems to be any actual coming home, only MovingOut/In/Up/On.

I've been blessed with the opportunity to assist my son Wilder in his latest MovingOut/In/Up/On. As the perhaps over-proud owner of my new pick-up, I'm officially obliged to assist anyone in my orbit who might need it. Until recently, I was the one calling, humbly with hat in hand, seeking to borrow my brother's or son-in-law's rig. I too well understand the contriteness such a request induces and the Grace their acceptance always produces. I'm now in the position to provide such assistance, and I welcome the opportunity, even though I know that I will learn some things I would have strongly preferred not to know about him and his circumstances. I told him before we started that I might not be able to speak to him again after sharing this experience, and I meant it. Later, as we were wrestling that couch up and out of that basement, I declared that the shared humiliating experience sealed it: I would never be able to speak to him again. We'll henceforth need a translator!

Nobody keeps house to anyone else's standards, so it falls upon the helper to not see some of what he might witness. He must keep his place and remain just as invisible as possible, not deciding, for instance, questions rightfully only answered by the one directly experiencing the Moving trauma. Moving makes open heart surgery seem like child's play, if only because surgery rarely requires heavy lifting. Moving might always be the heaviest lifting anyone ever experiences in their life. Shit they thought they'd dispensed with appears from the depths of storage. Flimsy furniture chooses the absolutely worst moment to fail. Proud collections, once possessions, become cruel overseers when contained in boxes, each weighing about the same as the Queen-Fuckin' Mary! There is no tooth fairy governing the packing of kitchen utensils. They unavoidably produce only oddly-shaped boxes that resist closing, fragile and unsuitable for any opening in either a pick-up bed or folded down backseat for drayage.

Moving amounts to streaking attempted at a person's most vulnerable moments: A move prefacing an impending divorce. A move following an unsuccessful attempt at employment. A move precipitated by a landlord deciding to sell their rental in a tight market. We've left without knowing where we'd land, piling our belongings into uncertain storage to enter a neverland between lives. The first Moving seemed terrifyingly hopeful when everything we owned easily fit into the back of a Volkswagen Squareback Station wagon. Our last Move, back from twelve long exile years, was no less traumatic, even though it finally brought us home. Home was not awaiting our return, however, and we set about creating the home we so desperately needed, just like we always had before. One always moves away from home, learning later, if not already knowing, that we would have to create a home in real-time upon whatever ground we'd landed.

We move toward only in the sense that we're willing to complete the work that begins when we cast off from wherever we'd landed before. We insist we're moving forward and that there never could be such a thing as moving backward, and we believe this fantasy with all of our hearts, the same hearts we will challenge to the point of breaking when we finally catch on to what we were doing when we thought we were "just" MovingOut/In/Up/On. We were Moving Beyond, never to return, opening a fresh chapter without knowing where our story would lead us next. We'll learn the new address and feel blessed or cursed with what we've wrought, understanding that there are no more perfect moves than the ones we made, and every damned one of those took considerable getting used to later.

©2024 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Grace, #PureSchmaltz