I’ve moved house about 26 times in my soon 29 years and each time has been different. One of the simplest times was when I threw my suitcase into a cab and went from Upper West Side to Upper East Side in New York. One of the worst was when I helped my parents move, the reason that I became a minimalist. But one of the most special was when I moved into my husband’s to be place. At the time I lived in a house with two other girls and I was going to get married in about a weeks time. My then fiancé was in South Korea and had texted that I could move in when he was away if I wanted to. And if I did! I would have a few days to settle in with my things before he came back and we would embark on our married life. I could have asked my parents to help but I’ve always (for a few years at least) wanted to move on a bike, and this would probably be my last opportunity to do so (I lived in a furnished room and didn’t have any furniture of my own).
So I started packing my things and was overwhelmed with how much it felt like. But still I was going to do it. It took a few turns with an overloaded bike and about 7 km to bicycle, once through pouring rain, but I did it! And I carried everything up 4 flights of stairs into our tiny studio apartment and home for the next few months before it was time to move again.