Column: Chase's Chatter – My eternal optimism saves ‘moving day’

   With a labored heave, I drop the cardboard box filled with worthless junk and odd trinkets on the kitchen floor.

“We’ve got the knick knacks . . .” I audibly breathe to myself. I catch my breath and examine my eerily-barren apartment before noticing another box full of old junk.

“. . . Here’s the box of paddywhacks,” I say, responding to myself. 

Putting my hands on my hips, I chuckle and playfully ask the empty apartment if it’s time to give a dog a bone and send the old man rolling home, quoting Mitch Miller’s famous “The Children’s Marching Song”. 

If the last seven days have yielded any lessons, it is that there’s always some element of stress wrapped up in moving to another house. Or, more fitting, there’s always several elements of stress wrapped up in moving. But what I also learned is that exercising an upbeat, whimsical nature keeps the process bearable. Granted, you may have to force yourself into an upbeat, whimsical mood at times, which can feel like shoving a round peg through a square hole with your toes.

I knew I had to find a new place to live for months now. That’s the magic of a renter’s lease – it spells out exactly when you have to cram boxes, cancel utilities and rent U-Hauls. But if you’re a chronic procrastinator like myself, air-tight deadlines are often little more than suggestions. Unfortunately, landlords rarely see move-out dates in this same light. And so it was with a great deal of last-minute effort that I found a new house to rent just in time. 

Well, that’s not exactly true. In reality my girlfriend, with whom I just signed the new lease, was an absolute soldier in terms of searching listings, calling landlords and scheduling tours. She basically orchestrated everything and assigned the footwork to me, her naive, yet loyal, sidekick. I helped a bit, sort of like a toddler cracking a few eggs in the process of helping their mother bake a cake. But to my credit, it wasn’t for a lack of trying on my part, I simply lack the technical literacy that comes so naturally to my girlfriend. But in my opinion, I helped in more subtle ways, namely morale boosting.

On multiple occasions throughout the last few weeks, my girlfriend and now-housemate has asked me questions like, “We still haven’t found a house, how are you so calm?” and “Do you have a decent-sized tent? Because that’s where we might be sleeping soon.” 

And on multiple occasions throughout the last few weeks, I’ve shrugged my shoulders and replied that everything would work out. Sure, half the time this was met with her rolling her eyes and asking more questions. But sometimes I’d notice my childlike optimism slowly eat at her stress like acetone stripping away paint. 

And truthfully, I could’ve passed a lie-detector every time I told her it’d work out. How’d I know we’d find a place in time? Admittedly, I have a streak of oblivious optimism in my personality, right next to my ‘aw shucks’ type of demeanor. But more than that, I knew we’d find a place due to the simple fact that an intelligent, creative and hardworking young adult was working on it . . . and I was helping her. 

The real question was why would I have worried at all? Between her scouring the seas of Facebook Marketplace and my endless calls to leasing agent after leasing agent (as instructed), we had it covered. Sometimes a bit of faith makes all the difference. And I’d like to think faith rubs off on people similar to a bar of high-class soap.

As I close the final box in my empty apartment, another deep breath leaves my lungs and I look around. Knick knacks, paddywhacks – all accounted for. I hold the box in one hand and close the door with the other before giving myself a quick nod.

No need to double-check, I’m certain I packed the optimism.