We've been intentionally downsizing for several months now. I think it's starting to affect our children. Every time Kate cleans her room, she makes two piles---one of things to throw away, and one of things to sell at our giant yard sale. Whenever her friends come over, she sends them home with stuffed animals or jewelry or some other small treasure. Luke intends to spend his Christmas money on Legos, because, he said, "they are small and will be easy to pack."
Drew spent a morning playing at my mom's house last week, and came home with a bag of assorted items, including a keychain Scrabble game and a mini ceramic bell. According to my mom, he went around her house commenting, "Grandma, you have so many of these; do you need that many?" and "Are you really using this?" I was half embarrassed, but I had to laugh, because those are questions I've been asking the kids about all the stuff in the toyboxes!
It is a strange process, this de-accumulating. At first, it was exhilarating. I emptied closets and drawers of things we weren't using anyway. It was fun watching the new owners delight in our unused items. After awhile, it became plain down tiring. It took too much time to take pictures, write descriptions, and upload it all onto a local yardsale site. Many days I had half a dozen labelled bags sitting on the front porch waiting to be picked up by buyers. We did get rid of a lot of stuff that way, made some money, and met some fine people---and that made it all worth it.
Our attic room is filled with boxes and bags of possessions we are gradually weeding out. We haven't truly missed anything yet....although when I removed the clock from the sunroom wall we caught ourselves looking at the empty place so often that I had to put it back. Yet I feel a pang every time I add something to the growing pile. We are down to the things we like, the things we actually use (albeit occasionally! We still have dishes in our cupboards.)
Some are things I thought I might save for posterity, like the Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls I sewed when Kate was a baby and I had lots of time. Some are things I collected, like bells and old books. I'm not sure why I had a math primer from 1905, except that I love the smell and feel of the yellowed pages. Some are sentimental, like the huge stuffed teddy bear that Keith brought me when I was briefly hospitalized during our dating years. Sure, we are saving several boxes of keepsakes, photos, and other memorabilia, along with a cedar chest full of quilts and my wedding dress.
We do have a bit of prior experience with this whole process. When we left for Cameroon a year after our wedding, we shipped an enormous crate of household items, including a set of Pfaltzgraff and our kitchen table. When we left three and a half years later, we sold nearly all of it and replaced only some when we returned home. When we dug our crystal candy dishes and four sets of crocheted placemats out of storage, we wondered if people really use them. But since they were gifts, they took up residence in the china cupboard!
This time around, we intend only to ship 1) necessities that can't be gotten in Thailand and 2) those few items that really make home "home" to all of us. And we are storing as little as possible back in the U.S (no crystal dishes!).....which brings me full circle to the realization that disposing of possessions is far more complicated than accumulating them.
Several people have asked me recently how it feels to have people buying the pictures off our walls or the furniture out of our rooms or the books right off the shelves. Some days, I love it. De-cluttering is incredibly freeing physically and mentally. I feel like I even think more clearly. And I do enjoy making someone's day; for example, if a friend has always admired something of mine and I can now bless her with it.
But sometimes I feel like I die a little every day. Gone are the days of poring over a catalog, choosing just the perfect piece to complete the decor of a room. Shopping is no fun anymore, because I can't justify buying much. I find myself at a loss to know how to join in certain conversations that are home- or hobby-centered. Or I'm happy to hear from a friend, only to discover that all she really wants is to see how much she can get for as little as possible. A few weeks ago, in the thick of online selling, a dear friend--who was interested in an item I'd listed for sale-- wrote me a short e-mail that meant the world to me. "...Really, though, it's not your stuff I want...I want your friendship. We need to connect more often before you leave, because I'm going to miss you!"
It's a strange yet familiar, good but difficult journey....and I am grateful for those who are walking it with us. You know who you are :-)
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