We are shuffling around campus offices in my department. A work crew has been here all week, putting up drywall, creating another new office space. Bookcases and file cabinets are piled everywhere, along with cardboard boxes of stuff that I am sure was very important at one time. I am moving from an office I've been in for the last ten years to another office just down the hall.
Moving is healthy. That's what I always say. It will give me time to sort through files, toss out stuff I don’t need any more, organize my books, and find things I've been missing for years. It's always good to have to look at my office and think of how I want to arrange it to accommodate changing needs. Now that I have a laptop computer, I am thinking that my desk is not as important as it used to be. I want a comfy chair instead.
So, yes, this process should be healthy and good for me and all that.
But like so many things that are healthy in the long run, I hesitate to even begin. I am a pack rat, and my office shelves are filled with not just the usual books and papers, but all kinds of interesting things: a set of rusty leghold traps, a bag of Barbie dolls, several plastic snakes, military action figures, stones and feathers, gendered party favors from kids' parties, mugs with clever sayings on them, maps, a round slice of wood from a Woodsmen’s demonstration, a log from the sycamore tree that used to be out in front of the building, crayons and markers, boxes of words, wooden lizards, shells and pine cones, a little statue of a monk, a piece of wood from an old barn, bottles of sand art, video tapes and slides and postcards from students. My file cabinets are stuffed full, with fascinating stuff that I might use some day if I ever get around to it.
Yeah, I am sure it will be healthy to go sort through it all, throw things out, dust things off. Maybe I'll start tomorrow.