Moving on

Moving, like breaking up or like meeting someone new, is hard to do. Especially when it's just to move again in 3 months. So I'm trying to go through my stuff, decide what's a necessity and what isn't, give some of it away and then pack some of it up, only to be unpacked months later if and when I manage to find a permanent and legal Paris studio.

I've always seen moving apartments as a metaphor for life-- at one point in my life when I was a recent college grad, I spent a whole year moving every 3 months to avoid a real apartment lease that would Tie Me Down. I didn't like living in Washington, DC enough to make anything permanent there. A decade later, I find Paris an easier city to commit to.

I'm quick to over-interpret life's banal details and make literal things symbolic, but deciding what you want to take with you and what you don't, what weighs you down and what doesn't, what baggage you want to leave behind, etc., well, it all sounds a bit like a U2 song.

As Clive Owen says in the film Croupier-- the best movie ever made about casino sleaze, writing and roulette-- when he sells his rolex for maybe $30, hang on tightly, let go lightly.