A Lesson in Downsizing
By Jeanne Strining
My life has been full of active verbs these past weeks: sort, sift, purge, clean, pack, lug, donate, unbox, organize, to name just a few.
After living in my home for 23 years, I had begun to feel that I was rattling around.
With the next generation on their own in their own places, I needed neither the space nor the maintenance that went with a large house and yard. I met with a real estate agent and detailed what I would be looking for, also letting her know that given the low housing stock with my particular requirements, I was giving the search 18-24 months. A week later I had my new house under contract.
Suddenly there was an urgency to tackle closets, drawers and a huge basement full of the paraphernalia of years of living. The new house is half the size of the old, so many decisions needed to be made — decisions requiring introspection, fortitude and backbone.
As I went from room to room, peering in closets and drawers, I was forced to acknowledge that I am a saver. And then, perhaps to make myself feel better, I decided that there are different kinds of savers. I am definitely not a hoarder or even a pack rat.
Things were stored with like things and usually labeled. I will admit however to being a “sentimental saver” as well as a “just-in-case saver.”
Take for instance the rather dusty cardboard box of letters from old boyfriends. These are from the time when people wrote letters! Each sender has his own stack with a different color ribbon. They are a part of my history. Do I really need them? No. But as a writer I know old letters can be great jumping off points for stories and character portrayals. Have I used them? No. And yet the box now resides in the basement of my new home.
This is not to say that I have not culled much of my memorabilia and excess stuff. How many towels, tablecloths, candles, etc. do I really need “just in case?”
Then there was the pile of backpacks in the back hall closet. I reminded myself that I have only one back so one backpack should be enough. Right? Then I thought about the fact that I had different types of backpacks for different purposes, but, and I patted myself on the back, I did whittle the pile down significantly.
When I got to the closet with my mother’s furs I was stumped about what to do with them. I could remember loving to sit next to her in church so I could pet her arm. What was I to do with these politically incorrect but lovely furs? The animals had already given their lives and I was trying hard not to add to the landfill. Via the internet I discovered that I could ship them off to PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) to be repurposed by refugees in cold places.
Goodwill, Restore, the local library, Buy Nothing and Ecopark have all benefited from my clearing out.
Once the move had been accomplished, I realized that unpacking was a new point of stress. As I stepped over and around the maze of boxes in my new home I realized everything needed to be reorganized in new spaces and more needed to be donated or discarded.
Then, too, there is so much more to organize than just the “stuff.” I spent hours at my computer canceling services at one home and setting them up at the new one. I was quickly disabused of the notion that those chores could quickly be accomplished by a phone call.
Businesses want you to complete a form online and strongly encourage you to do this by downloading their app. Every form and app has its own idiosyncrasies that are not always user-friendly. If I could find a phone number and get a voice on the phone it was a robot, so heaven forbid I should have a question or a problem that did not fit the script. I felt like some of these businesses should put me on their payroll for doing their work. More than once I was tempted to chuck my computer across the room!
In other words, moving is not for the faint of heart. I easily get my 10,000 steps in daily and sink into my easy chair at night. Fortunately I have wonderful family help. The next generation took things that they could use or that held special memories for them. My mother’s dining room furniture and my grandmother’s sofa went to other family homes. My family has lugged boxes up and downstairs, packed and unpacked, taken down pictures and re-hung them.
Most of all they have cheered me on and let me know how much they appreciate that I am doing this before it all falls on them.
Jeanne Strining is a retired teacher and school administrator. She currently teaches writing workshop for the Osher Lifelong a Learning Institute at RIT.