Burn it all!!
Farewell, Wisconsin: A Love Letter, A Bonfire, and a Little Doomscrolling
Packing Up, Scrolling Down, and Burning It All
I always thought I’d tackle big life changes with the grace of a movie protagonist—calm, collected, maybe even a little inspirational. Instead, I’m cross-legged on the floor, drowning in Japanese ambient music and surrounded by piles of stuff I’ve been studiously avoiding for years. Meanwhile, Instagram reels taunt me with “minimalist packing hacks” that somehow require buying more stuff. Spoiler alert: the hacks didn’t help, but I did end up with four new packing cubes. Isn’t capitalism fun?
Because here’s the thing: condensing an entire house into a suitcase and a backpack isn’t just about logistics. It’s emotional. It’s absurd. And if you’re me, it’s also the perfect excuse to procrastinate by doomscrolling your way through headlines that make you wonder if you even need to pack because, honestly, does the future exist?
The Art of Deciding What Stays and What Burns
As part of this great purge, I’ve been scanning old photos, postcards, and letters—some of which I’ve been lugging around since I first left Wisconsin in 1989. Yes, you read that right: I’ve been a traveling museum of my own relics and sentimentality for over three decades. Do I remember who wrote me that “Wish you were here!” postcard in 1993? Absolutely. Did I carefully scan it, save it to a hard drive, and then light the original on fire like I’m starring in my own low-budget emotional indie film? You bet I did. Part of me wants to burn it all, And I have burnt 25 years of receipts, bills and just miscellaneous BS that I was carrying around incase I ever needed it for taxes. Luckily I finally took care of that.
There’s something weirdly therapeutic about it, though. Watching the flames curl around a stack of Polaroids that captured a time in your life you look back on fondly feels like releasing the weight of expectations you never realized you carried. It’s a small, fiery goodbye to the person you thought you had to be, and a warm welcome to whoever comes next. Plus, it’s way more dramatic than just tossing them in the trash—a ceremonial goodbye to the version of yourself who couldn’t let go of their Directors Guild membership card.
Distractions Galore: Social Media and Scrolling Through the Apocalypse
Of course, every emotional purge needs a healthy dose of distraction, and I’ve turned to my trusty iPhone to fill in the gaps. While one part of me is debating whether or not I really need to keep the velvet pheasant painting, another part is doomscrolling through headlines about the latest disaster, War, climate change, LA fires, drones—it’s all there, neatly packaged and ready to pull me into a rabbit hole of anxiety.
At one point, I caught myself toggling between scanning photos and mindlessly refreshing Facebook. I’d love to call it multi-tasking, but let’s be honest: it was avoidance, pure and simple. The irony of scrolling through IG reels about “decluttering your life” while surrounded by my own chaos didn’t escape me—if anything, it added a special layer of self-aware guilt.
Facebook Marketplace: The Wild West of Downsizing
Facebook Marketplace, also known as the seventh circle of hell. Downsizing means selling off a lot of your stuff, and in theory, Marketplace is great for that. In practice, though, it’s been a ghost town. Between the holidays leaving everyone broke, the collective anxiety over the economy, and the unease of a new presidency, no one’s buying anything. And when someone does inquire, it’s usually a dingdong looking for a bargain on something I’m practically giving away.
Take, for example, the person who messaged me about paying $100 less for an item and wanted me to deliver it to him 45mins away. When I asked if he knew what he was asking, I wanted to tear into him, then he counter offered with an extra $30 for my trouble and I knew this mouth breathing breeder was not worth my head space.
Oh, and let’s not forget the haggler who wanted to pay me in “frozen perch.”
Still, every now and then, I meet a Marketplace unicorn—a person who shows up, pays full price, and doesn’t ask me to deliver a $20 floor mat to the next state over. These encounters give me just enough hope to keep listing things instead of setting them all on fire like the postcards. BTW a little inside tip, If I were you I would hit up the Vinnies in Sauk Prairie mid February.
The Emotional Whiplash of Starting Over
As I sort through the remnants of my life, I’m struck by how heavy the past is—both literally and metaphorically. Every trinket, every photo, every mismatched sock feels like it carries the weight of a thousand memories. And yet, letting go of it all is also freeing. There’s a strange joy in knowing that I’m not defined by the things I’ve kept, or even the things I’m emotionally leaving behind.
This move has reminded me that the past is a good storyteller but a terrible navigator. It’s time to hand over the wheel, pack only what truly matters, and leave the rest behind. Honestly, I’d rather make space for the unknown than carry the baggage of outdated stories and expired dreams. Because isn’t every hero’s journey about shedding what no longer serves them, taking only what fuels their next adventure, and embracing the thrill of the unknown?
As I prepare to leave Wisconsin for the final time, I’m equal parts terrified and exhilarated. The future is a giant question mark, but at least I know it won’t include that brown velvet pheasant painting. Or, with any luck, quite as much doomscrolling.
I decided to delete IG off my phone after wasting four hours watching the Turkish ice cream man slyly troll his customers, Japanese pranks, and Nick Cave give fashion advice. It wasn’t just about reclaiming time; it was about reclaiming a bit of my own power—however small—in a world that seems to be spinning out of control. Deleting Instagram felt like more than just a tech detox; it was a way to remind myself that I don’t have to be a passive participant in my own life. Even if everything else feels uncertain, this was one decision entirely within my grasp, and somehow, that small act of rebellion felt monumental. Turning away from the endless scroll, even for a moment, felt like a tiny rebellion—a chance to remind myself that I’m still at the helm, even if the ship’s course isn’t always clear.
I’m apprehensive about the move—staring into the vast unknown with equal parts dread and curiosity. But maybe that’s the secret: every great adventure starts with a little uncertainty—the kind that makes your stomach flip and your heart race. It’s the moment when you trade a roadmap for a leap of faith, and in doing so, you open yourself up to stories you never saw coming. Here’s hoping my next chapter is one worth telling. So here I am, armed with a backpack, a camera, a suitcase, and a passport that’s practically begging for new stamps. Where will life eventually take me? I’m not sure. Do we ever really know? That’s the fun of it—leaning into the uncertainty, trusting that the adventure will be worth the chaos.
You may be asking yourself, is this it?
No. I truly enjoy writing and sharing my adventures with you. The post may be a bit more spread out until I get myself situated. I am going to do my best to make sure that I keep them coming to your inbox every other week if not more. Perhaps substack will be my space to share my new adventure as Lions, Tigers and Badgers expands. OH MY!!!
Love & Light
MM