Why is moving so hard? The struggle to lighten up, give up, and let go.

Moving out — moving on

“Have nothing in your homes that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.” — William Morris.

Everything changes.

I just emptied an apartment full of furniture, things, stories, and stuff. I carried couches, desks, and pieces of furniture up and down (and up and down) many flights of stairs across hilly San Francisco. I donated 600 books and gifted them to friends across the city.

Moving is so freeing and yet so hard.

And I wrapped up a life living in this beautiful home, this beautiful city, with so many good friends.

“We’re making space for new adventures,” my husband reminded me. “Don’t keep anything you don’t remember you had in the first place.”

But it’s so hard. The labor of moving everything. The memories.

Moving is exhausting. The energy of lifting, analyzing, purging, and letting go — it’s no small task. When I got overwhelmed recently in the pile of stuff that somehow accumulates around one’s home, I went online in a desperate plea to my minimalist friends — “Help!” I said, “How do I do this?”

Joshua wrote back a simple truth — and it made me laugh:

“You are not your dishtowel.” — Joshua Fields Millburn

Right. Right!

I am not my things.

I get to keep the stories, the memories, the transformation. My life is not a couch. My memories are not held inside of a sofa.

When I got back to New York this weekend, I decided to continue the cleansing: we piled up four more bags of books and clothes and cleaned out our home. More and more, I’m inspired by lightness, ease, minimalism, and letting go — letting go of past stories, details, habits, and junk.

Why do we each need to keep our own personal bookshelves? If I need a book in the future, I’ll borrow it or get a digital copy. I trust that the world will have this information, regardless of whether or not I house the words within my own tiny square-foot home. I do not need to own hundreds of books to continue to thirst for knowledge.

“There are two ways to be rich: One is by acquiring much, and the other is by desiring little.” — Jackie French Koller.

“Simplicity involves unburdening your life, and living more lightly with fewer distractions that interfere with a high quality life, as defined uniquely by each individual.” — Linda Breen Pierce

What is the weight of holding on to all these “things”?

Plus: what is the weight of carrying around a hundred books I haven’t read yet? The oppressive weight of “should” on my shelf must hold substantial weight in my mind, pinning me down to past wishes, thoughts, and dreams.

What if I free up that shelf space — mental, physical, karmic? Send those books to places they will be loved and cherished, rather than collecting dust in my own life? Root to rise, my yoga mantra. My roots come from my community, my connections, my spirit. My rise comes from weightlessness, expansiveness, ease. If I hold on to unread books, I hold on to unfinished committments. A bookcase full of shoulds and one-days and look at what you haven’t done staring down at me in my morning meditation.

“Any half-awake materialist well knows – that which you hold holds you.” — Tom Robbins.

The sadness of leaving + the freedom of space.

As I prepared to leave San Francisco, my home — my only permanent residence for most of my waking life — I kept tearing up about the friends and the people I would miss. Would giving up my home and apartment mean I could never come back? And then my friend Leah reminded me that I’ll always be back. The cool whispers of San Francisco’s foggy oceans will also be one of my homes.

“You’re family here. We’ll have space for you whenever you return. It’s not about the couch. Just come, whenever you want. It can be easy.” 

And I remember that I get to keep all the stories, all the memories. I so grateful to this beautiful coastal city and to the rich community of people I have met over the years. I love it here.

And I love what’s next, even if I have no idea what it is.

Let go of what’s not serving you, even if it’s as innocuous as books. Make space for your future self. 

To adventure, creative living, the sharing economy, and change.

And as Carol Pearson writes, to a new story, to a new narrative:

“Most of us are slaves of the stories we unconsciously tell ourselves about our lives. Freedom begins the moment we become conscious of the plot line we are living and, with this insight, recognize that we can step into another story altogether.” —Carol S. Pearson, The Hero Within

To an adventure. To freedom.

For more quotes on simplicity and minimalism, check out Joshua Becker’s list of inspiring quotes on minimalism — many of which I used as part of this essay. 

Words to Fill Your Mind: The Power of a Mantra

The words that fill our minds…

We all have words that we cycle on repeat in our minds—from worries about being late to songs we sing or words we repeat. Don’t be late, don’t be late, don’t be late, we repeat to ourselves as we rush from subway to office to meeting to appointment. Gotta finish, gotta finish, gotta finish—it builds across our mind like a chant, a pull to keep us focused long enough to finish the day or the project.  

[tweetable hashtag=”@sarahkpeck”]”What we think, we become.” —Buddha[/tweetable]

What is a mantra?

A mantra is a basic sound used in meditation and chanting, and more simply, in our daily lives. At its root, a mantra means “mind tool.” The root man– means mindtra- means protection or instrument. Anodea Judith, in The Wheels of Life, describes a mantra as “a tool for protecting our minds from the traps of nonproductive cycles of thought and action.” She writes:

[tweetable hashtag=”@sarahkpeck”]“Mantras serve as focusing devices for making the mind one-pointed and calm.”—Judith[/tweetable]

Have you ever heard a young kid gleefully say the same thing over and over again? “This is so COOL!” They exclaim, only to repeat the same thing again a few minutes later, and again a few minutes later. Our minds hold words and ideas captive, guiding our thoughts with simple patterns that we often repeat on cycle. Sometimes it’s negative:

Dumb, dumb, dumb. That was dumb. Why did you do that?

And sometimes it’s positive:

Awesome, awesome, awesome. Nailed that! Whooo! Yes. Awesome. Awesome, awesome. 

And sometimes we get a peaceful song noted in our minds—a song that sticks, webbed words woven into our invisible frameworks.

Oh what a beautiful morning… Oh what a beautiful day…

Try it yourself:

A beautiful way to start your day is with a small mantra. Try a notecard taped to the side of your bed, a post-it on the inside of your wallet, or a scribbling on your daily diary. One of the reasons I write so many notes and doodle all over instagram is to remind myself and repeat words as I imprint them into my being.

What phrases would you love to embed in your mind? What new mind patterns and habits would be soothing or helpful? Perhaps during times of stress, “This too shall pass;” or “This is just but a moment.” These short phrases are powerful tools to build into your inner mind strength. Sometimes I like to hum to myself, “zoom in, zoom out,”—the vibration of the z buzzing against my lips, the mmmm a buzz deeper in my ribs and belly. (Try it: humming is delightful).

[tweetable hashtag=”@sarahkpeck”]”Zoom in, zoom out. It’s nothing in the macroscrope, it’s nothing in the microscope.”[/tweetable]

The vibrations of actual sound — joyful noises, as I like to call them — do more than just warm up our vocal chords. They are a means of expression, and they help to settle our mid-bodies.

How do you use language to protect your mind? Do you chant, sing, or hum each day? Do you have a phrase you love to hold on to?

What words are you telling yourself? Listen in.

Is It Too Late?

“For what it’s worth, it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.”

– Benjamin Button

2013: Lessons to Take With Me

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Part two of my annual round-up. For part one, check out my annual review for 2012

The last year, or two, weren’t easy–and full of lots of mistakes–but incredible and far better than the first half of my twenties. I’ve mused lately, in my 29th yearwhat this decade will add up to. What have I done? What does my daily life look like? How have I changed? Have I made a mark on the world? 

By and large, the latter half of the decade was far more psychologically and personally satisfying–coming into stride with many of my quirks and idiosyncracies, delighting in saying no in order to stay at home and work on a project purely because my soul wanted to, and deciding to skip, sing, hold hands and lie on the floor when I felt like it–all of this slowly built a foundation of happiness and glee I wasn’t accustomed to after coming off of years of teenage (and early twenty-something) angst. It’s worth saying, however, that much of the groundwork for many of my leaps and bounds between age 25-29 came through several years of dedicated, isolated, and non-public personal and professional efforts in my younger years.

In short: it gets better. For those who work hard, and who are exploring and taking chances, it adds up. Keep going. Learning compounds, (the right) friendships deepen, people stop caring if you have acne or armpit sweat or if you spit a little when you talk (or they tell you, directly and kindly) and generally they care more that you’re passionately geeky about something, that you take your energy and focus it on making things happen, that you’re crafting both an identity and a legacy in the world, albeit through trial and error. If you’re in a slough–and I’ve had years of undulations, so I understand the melancholy that can come from not understanding just-quite-what-to-do-next–stick it out another season, and keep experimenting.

In the meantime, here’s what I’ve gleaned along the way, particularly lessons that have solidified over the last year. In looking back through the essays on this site and musing over what I’d like to take with me, here’s what I’d like to carry with me for this next spin around the sun.


Almost everything is far easier said than done.


It can take a year or a decade to learn a lesson and build a practice or a habit I joke that it takes me a year to learn a habit because I’ve got twelve months to try 30 days over again, and by the 8th or 9th time, I’m almost there. Yoga took me four years to get into. Running took me three years. Blogging, two years (or ten, depending on how you count and whether copious emails and live journal count as blogging). Every lesson I’ve learned I had to learn personally. reading other’s wisdom didn’t cement the idea into my soul, my being.

So for everything below, I’ll write the lessons–but in all probability, you’ll also have to learn them yourself. Continue reading “2013: Lessons to Take With Me”