So here I am with open arms

It feels strange that after three years of accumulating, of adding to the two suitcases I dragged off the airplane, I'm decluttering.

I'm going through old pieces from my portfolio, deeming them expired. I'm throwing out old goodbye, thank you, and happy birthday messages. I tossed a stack of pictures feeling confident that if I ever care to replace them, printing is only a click away. It's easy to get lost while sitting on the floor with my legs crossed, falling deep into old memories, old decisions, the old me. I got rid of a couple of uninspired knitting projects, but the bin of yarn I keep under my bed is still overflowing. My "to read" stack of books gets unstacked and shoved into boxes, no doubt pushed aside for the next couple of years. I spend time on the phone with anyone who sends me mail, informing them of the change. I take my time walking to work, inhaling the feeling of downtown.

"Maybe it's good you're moving in over time," said Kitty. "That way, maybe he won't realize how much stuff you have."