You want to know the truth about moving? I learned it when I was 23, sitting on the floor of my new apartment at 2 AM, surrounded by boxes, eating cold pizza with my hands because I’d packed all the plates in a box labeled “kitchen stuff” and had no idea which one it was.
Here’s what nobody tells you.
Your Stuff is Lying to You
That thing where you look around your room and think “this isn’t so bad”? It’s a lie. Your stuff multiplies in the dark. You will own fifteen thousand \plastic forks and exactly one matching sock. You will find a collection of hotel pens that could supply a small bank.
Start with your closet. Right now. Take every single thing out. If you haven’t worn it in a year, you’re not going to. Be brutal. I held onto a pair of jeans for three years that “almost fit.” I finally donated them and felt this huge weight lift. You’re not just moving stuff—you’re moving energy.
Your “Open First” Survival Kit
Your “open first” box is your survival kit. Mine has:
- Toilet paper (CRITICAL).
- Phone charger.
- Toothbrush.
- Clean underwear.
- Advil.
- Dog food if you have a dog.
- COFFEE. The whole setup. Maker, filters, mug.
Put this box in your car. If everything else disappears, you can survive with this.
The Timing Gap Nightmare
Now, the real problem nobody talks about—the timing gap. What if you close on your new place July 1 but your lease ends June 28? Where does your bed go for those three days?
I once stored my entire life in my dad’s garage. Mice got into my winter coats. They nested in my favorite sweater.
This is where storage units actually make sense. Not the creepy ones from horror movies, but clean, well-lit places like what we offer at New Burton Storage. Just for a week or a month. Just to breathe. To not have your mattress leaning against your mom’s minivan in the rain.
Label Like Your Sanity Depends On It (It Does)
When you pack, be specific with labels. “Sarah’s room – books and stuffed animals” is better than “kid stuff.” “Kitchen – plates and silverware” is better than “misc.”
And feed your friends who help you. Order pizza. Buy good beer. Don’t be the person who offers “the experience” as payment.
The Bottom Line
You’re going to be fine. You’re going to forget something important, probably your shower curtain. You’ll unpack for what feels like years. But one night, you’ll be sitting in your new place, drinking coffee from your own mug, and it’ll hit you—this is yours.
That moment makes all the cardboard cuts worth it.
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