Delete this photo forever?

January 5th, Monday, feels like the first day of the New Year because my partner and kids are out of the house again (work and school, respectively).

I’ve sat in this blue chair by the outer wall for 2 hours now, am cold. The wall radiates cold from the outside, where the sky is grey and the wind rustles the invasive heavenly bamboo by the window.

The plan is to move to Seattle after kids finish out the academic year. That’s half a year out, which today feels immediate. Everything I do is filtered through the energy of preparing for Seattle. Everything I see is filtered through the knowledge that this is the last winter in DC, the last spring in DC, the last time I will take this environment for granted before learning which aspects of it were unique, purposefully crafted. Before the loved but unappreciated becomes visible and nostalgic.

I’ve experienced a drastic change of environment before, when I was 12. This time is a choice, is my own doing, and shall not be as different. Same country, similar city size, same language, opposite coast.

So I know to anticipate the pain of loss, the tension and fatigue of unfamiliarity. The loneliness of being without a social web.

But I’m moving because I anticipate joy.

I’ve sat in the blue chair for two hours because I’m culling down our digital photo library, so that it’s cleaner to back it up on Google Photos. This is also in preparation for Seattle.

Change feels to have an hourglass shape. In the center is the thin neck through which you need to shove yourself and your stuff to get from now to later. To fit into this neck, I must release clutter. Mental, physical, spiritual.

I have to be honest with myself about the value of my time to myself, of my existing skillsets. Many things that are “I technically can do this myself” or “ideally I do this like this” become “I’m going to find someone else to take on this responsibility, because I want a clear mind and to keep moving forward”.

In our photo library, there’s an album called “Oak’s Everyday” and it’s nearly 4K images, the majority of which are plants. I’ve discovered the following as I’m thinning it out:

• girl, it’s so silly that you’re ever depressed, look at how easy you find joy in leaves, grass, sunlight. Shape and color and texture are your friends, and they’re everywhere. They’ll be in Seattle too. You don’t need to be afraid.
• it’s surprisingly easy to choose what to keep. People. Knitting projects. Food experiments. Images that identify places you’ve lived or frequently visited. Changes in seasons. Your own face.
• this gallery, accumulated over a decade, is like a love letter to yourself. It’s so easy to track and accept what appeals and enlivens you. Bark after rain. Water. Reflections. Shadows. Sunlight revealing color and cell structure. Rocks and moss. Every time it snows. When you learned to love dogwoods. When you began noticing utility poles.
• Before we go, let’s give ourselves spring in these places: Great Falls VA, Billy Goat trail A, Brookside Gardens, Meadowbrook Park, Norwood Park, your friend’s Dacha, that creek near Homestead Farm.
• love, it’s time to let yourself be proud of your eyeballs and brain, of what you notice, of the way you notice. Keep growing the skill of framing a visual to show it off. Stop aspiring and make crappy art.
• you like pastries and bread, making them felt witchy.
• you did pretty good at making secular winter holidays feels festive. I bet you’re ready to do the same for Easter and spring.

Ok, friend, gallery down from 4K to 0.84K! Time to go start laundry, then groceries.