Way up there, on the list of life’s most stressful events, besides divorce, is moving, especially if it involves relocating to another city. Some of you don’t know I moved from Denver, where I’ve lived forever, to the central woods of Wisconsin. In this I’ve been facing many of the regrets and anxieties endemic to this major life transition. I do think, after hours of driving about and getting to know my new town that I found the most Colorado-y town possible. That in itself has reduced the culture shock a bit. Though it amazes me to this day how many people still smoke and that camo is a lifestyle.

I’ve been sorting through the plethora of items that I’ve accumulated over the years for months leading up to this, deciding what to keep and what to discard. Each object, from old ski poles, to a pile of love letters, from a ukulele that I continue struggle to play well, to the syllabus from a course I took three years ago, evokes a flood of memories, some pleasant and some rather painful.

Sorting through one’s accumulated possessions, reawakens slumbering ghosts of all sorts, the most powerful of which is the spectre of regret. After tormenting me for what I did, it then attacks me for the many more things that I should have done. Ideally, this journey backwards in time can effectuate a kind of catharsis, leading to a healing epiphany: I could not be the person I am today had I not been the person that I had been, in all my ignorance and foolishness. Thus regrets are burned away through insight.

Insight doesn’t justify anything, but it allows me to transcend the tragic dimensions, sometimes offering peace to my tortured soul through an enlarged understanding of life. Without exorcising the ghosts of the past, through acceptance, there is a danger that these regrets will follow the moving van to the new abode, taking up residence and I don’t think I can find a house that big. I’m not afraid of much but there is always fear involved with moving. There is the fear of leaving home, severing contact with the familiar, indeed of losing my known world. This fear of losing myself is a very fundamental anxiety. This fear of not being “at home” is the key to that most dreadful experience.

The other fear is of not being able to let go of the old self and the albatross of memories that I would like very much to forget, as well as the habits, routines and outlooks that could potentially limit my horizon. Thus, if I am to fit into this new space, it requires I call myself out on my own crap, since ultimately I only have myself to answer to and trust the motion of the universe that led me here and use it as a catalyst for a new adventure.

Adventure begins today, and surprisingly being the cool new kid has its advantages.