As I’ve shared with anyone who’ll listen, I’ve moved for the second time in a year and Monday was furniture moving day. Most of the boxes–and they are too numerous to count–were moved over the course of the last month since I settled on my condo.
I was really proud of myself; I was throwing out–on average–two 30-gallon trash bags of STUFF per week since I put the offer in on my new place in late January. I gave away–to Goodwill, to the kids, and to friends–a whole boatload of other STUFF including a king-size bed (and the bedding to go with it), lawn mower, snow blower, clothing galore, bar stools, etc., etc., etc. My new place only has two bedrooms, a loft, and NO basement so I knew I was going to need to be aggressive in my downsizing efforts.
So why then do I still have way too much STUFF and even more importantly, why can’t I seem to part with it?
Yesterday, as I sat facing the daunting task of unpacking all those boxes, I felt exhausted. Yes, I know, there is the natural exhaustion that comes with the move and yet another change. Yet, I found myself growing weary of the thought of not only unpacking the STUFF and finding places for all of it, but of taking care of the STUFF going forward. And placing so much energy on the STUFF leaves me very little in my fuel tank to take care or devote time to the true STUFF that matters– friends, family, this blog, and so on.
I think there’s a lesson in this. I just hope I am willing to transform enough to truly learn it–as soon as I come out from beneath this large box I’m under…