Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be able to just teleport myself to California and not have to pack! How I hate packing. I don’t mind flying or airports or TSA security screens or moving sidewalks or being shuttled from terminal X to terminal Y.
But please god, don’t make me decide between my polar fleece and my wool sweater, my khakis and my jeans, 5 long-sleeved tops and 2 short-sleeved ones or vice versa. And, btw, is my little terry bathrobe a “want” or a “need”?
And then, once I’m packed, I set about neurotically cleaning the house because when I come back home after a week in the beautiful and majestic and inpsiring Sierra Nevada range, I will be seeing everything with “new eyes:” bigger eyes, more understanding eyes, eyes that see a things in perspective once again.
And I am going to be changed, I know it–big mountains leave a profound print on my soul such that every one and every thing looks different when my vision has been stretched out over infinite expanses of earth, sky and mountain ranges for days at a time.
What I don’t want, is to come back and feel disgusted with my life. What I don’t want is to see any of the clutter that I live in most of the time–a clutter that reflects a preoccupied and too busy life sometimes. I don’t want to come home and cry and pine for CA for days or weeks afterward.
I want to come home to order and neatness and cleanliness. I don’t just want this, however; I need this.
So tomorrow I will make all the hard and final decisions about how many pants, how many shorts, what pajamas and how many pairs of socks. Then I will clean and organize and tidy the house.
I want the transition back home to be effortless and easy, but most of all, sweet.