The whirlwind of June

Even if you think you know that it’s going to be difficult to close down Shop (aka, Your Life), the actual process of doing so is more insurmountable – and comical – than even the most creative imaginations could possibly conjure. In fact, if you actually knew what it was going to take to transition your job, clean out everything you’ve collected in your office for the last ten years, wrap up those things that have been hanging out on your To Do list for, oh, say, the last five years, and THEN go home and try to fit the contents of your entire apartment into a 5x7x8 pod, odds are more than likely that you would never even attempt it.

Being blessed with the ignorance of the tasks ahead, I careened into June with a buzzing concern that I didn’t know exactly what I was getting myself into, but with the prevailing optimism that it would all somehow manage to work out in the end. Well, if “the end” is actually accomplishing the task list above, then I was correct in one thing: It did all work out in one way or another. But as for working out gracefully? Well, you’ll have to read about that in my imaginary blog…

What stands out the most about June is waking up every day with an endless and impossible task list, contrasted with the only thing that made it possible for me to get out of bed in the morning: the amazing outpouring of support I received from my family and friends. If it were not for my friends, I would still be in San Francisco right now, likely setting up shop on a Van Ness sidewalk, pan handling among my fellow street-abiding neighbors. At least I’d be thankful for my experience in asking people for money.

Fierce, KZ, yin, and VTP happily embracing the "every day's a Friday" mentality with me.

So here’s a quick snapshot. Although Ashley was with her business school class in South America during my move, her long distance assistance was the kind that can only come from your S.O. Ashley anticipated so many things I would need in this process – it was as if she were with me every step of the way.

Vamonos. Me & Ash on her balcony.

The rest of my friends who were in town came in shifts depending on their schedules, each fulfilling a different role in the process. After his tenth run, I lost count of how many trips Shaun made to the Goodwill.

Shaun tackles one of many ridiculous tasks in the moving process

Mieke efficiently shredded enough of my old files I could have sworn she’d spent time at Arthur Anderson.

But did they wear such cool hats at Arthur Anderson?

Marcie helped me tackle my bookcase – one book at a time – and like the good manager she is, allowed me to work through my own inane questions. Her active listening was often followed with this look:

Me: But Marce. What if I need to know about edible plants in the wild?

Marce: If you’re in the wild, do you think you’ll have this book with you?

Kristen (The Unflappable) was there on “Pod Day” with packing tape in hand, and thank heavens. Who would have thought it would be so important to just have someone standing outside to make sure that the thieves of San Francisco weren’t running off with my stuff as fast as it could get packed in the pod?

Russian mail-order bride? Or Door-2-Door pod?

Either way, comes with comfy couch on the ceiling.

Pod Day was also pretty overwhelming. Nothing like a collision with reality when the movers are packing everything you own into a plywood box not bigger than a San Francisco parking space. Not to mention that even though the movers filled my pod with more than I ever thought possible, I still had a WHOLE lotta stuff left to deal with. Ugh.

Kate was in from New York and, having just gone through a similar version of this process, coached me to the apartment closing finish line. Having lost virtually all of my sanity on my last day at 1735, Kate prevented me from fervorishly diving into nonsensical projects such as Murphy’s Oiling my floors at midnight the day before my final walk through. A gentle, “That’s enough, Karen,” while removing the cleaning supplies from my hands and permanently closing the door on my otherwise vacated dwelling did the trick.

"Karen, put the cleaning supplies DOWN."

Maurice and Shannon loaned me their truck for the day, a godsend for transporting everything I thought would fit into my car (emphasis on “thought” here) over to Kristen & Jerrold’s.

This truck includes one certified assistant for all your moving needs.

And then there was my home away from home, my personal refugee camp across the bay. Kristen and Jerrold possess the patience of marble monuments and never once cracked – not even while watching the bizarre leftover contents of my life flood the bottom floor of their house, gradually seeping into every downstairs room.

Isabel: Karen, why is all your stuff here?

Kristen: Karen's staying with us for a little while.

Isabel: It's a mess.

Ford: Hee hee.

In short, “quitting my life” (as I affectionately call it) was a bottomless process and there were many times I didn’t think I was going to make it through alive. Such as here, when I really thought I was done. No really.

Somewhere in my imaginary blog, I have finished moving at this point...

I feel an enormous debt of gratitude to all my friends, including a number of others not mentioned here, who helped in countless other ways. It’s amazing that even though I had been considering a move like this for the better part of five years that I still needed a human safety net – the incredible group of people who encouraged me daily that I was making the right choice and physically helped me close up shop. Thanks, Everyone. You all made it both possible and incredibly difficult to leave The City by the Bay.

And... Scene.