Moving Envy and Leaving Behind a Legacy
Both of my daughters moved this month. One to a townhome one town over and the other a mile from her current home. Most people approach moving with dread. There’s the purging and the packing and the physical shuttling of a homes’ worth of contents from one place to another. Nothing ever fits in the new place like it did in the old, and there are always surprises that can make or break the day. The state of disorganization can quickly grate on nerves as you search for places to put everything. And then there are the endless trips to big box stores to replace what broke, went missing or is now needed.
Oh, how I miss such a mess. Since starting this blog, I’ve moved residences only three times (and packed up one place once it was mine). I say only because before then, I’d never lived in the same house more than 5 years—EVER. My dad’s job required frequent moves, as did my husband’s until he retired and we started to stay put for much longer than I expected. I’ve wanted to move from our current home for a few years now, but the ridiculous rental market is making that difficult. Not to mention we’re once again tied to a school district and particular school that makes this a better place to plant deeper roots.
As part of my yearlong improvement plan, I’ve been taking a more critical look at the condition of this place and its contents. There’s so much I could justify donating or just dropping at the dump if we were officially moving. But since we aren’t on the hunt to relocate, even locally, I’m instead looking at how I can spruce up the place with what we have. Why? Because I’m still saving pennies for when we renovate the home we actually own in Oregon.
So, I go room by room and Marie Kondo the hell out of it. I don’t throw everything in a pile, but almost every weekend I’m working my way through cramped closets and overstuffed drawers. There are things I’ve saved for decades now and finally figured out they must go. My children do not want most of what we’ve accumulated. They have their own stuff and their own tastes and I’m good with that. Some pantry items I found too precious to use all at once have gone rancid. Lesson learned. My clothing style is changing, too, not just because of almost a year of self-isolation but because I want to wear attire that suits my current age and personality, not a persona in years past.
This brings me to all the running gear. I have a coat closet stuffed with jackets for every micro climate change imaginable. Yet I wear the same three or four pieces on my walks, hikes and runs. Why let all of this expensive outerwear sit unused when it could benefit someone in need? The same with hiking pants—do I really need five pairs when I’m most likely to only need one on a hike, even one that takes place over multiple days? And don’t even get me started on the race T-shirts. Even pared down, I own a ridiculous number.
Owning less certainly makes future moves more possible. We all fill up empty spaces over time, even those with minimalist tendencies. And we grow attached to pieces that manage to gain a hold on our heart. But attachments are not universal. It’s a good idea to have some tough talks with your heirs and ask what someone does and doesn’t want after you’re gone. Make sure they aren’t hoarders, or they’ll accept everything. Or not mad at you, or they’ll reject too much.
There’s only so much we can do all at once to keep an entire household orderly and clean. That is, unless you have a hard deadline to get your sh*t together. It’s something I don’t have right now, but someday will. As will we all, whether we’re ready to move on or not.
