Cary’s eyes followed the sun as it rose, watching intently from his balcony, while the wind swirled around the leaves of the trees below and then brushed past playfully across his face. Today was going to be a long day; he was moving to Barcelona for two years as senior current affairs journalist for BBC.
He started counting the number of times he has moved in his life; and very quickly he lost count. He laughed to himself and thought, “I had better start keeping a record of all my moves if I want to remember where the heck I have been at the end of my life.”
He went inside and sat on his sofa, next to several large open boxes filled with things he wasn’t taking with him. He ceremonially shuffled through them, bemused by the number of things he had around the apartment that had absolutely no purpose to him.
He leaned back, looked over to the mirror by the wall, and saw his slumped self on the sofa staring back at him. Every time he moved, he gained some new insight. This time he realized that he had kept things around that may have once been, or so he thought, a meaningful part of his life, but have now become objects he no longer needed. That moving on sometimes meant leaving the good and the beautiful, but the needless behind. And he figured that he should do some moving in his mind. Being in relationships with beautiful people he didn’t love, the memory of a lover’s kiss, the sound of his first love’s snores...
There was a knock on the door; it was Cary’s dad. Cary opened the door and hugged him.
“All set, son?” Cary’s dad asked with a wide smile.
“All set!” Cary replied.
“Alright, let’s go.”
Cary gave one last hard look around the apartment; suddenly a huge wave of sadness overcame him. Wishing not to bear the moment any longer, he hastily closed the door behind him, for the final time.
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