Baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby …
Seven more weeks, and our new housemate arrives. We are in a slow motion frenzy of moving things around and out of the house to make space. I’m moving out of
our my office studio room, or, well, half of it. Baby gets the other half, and I’m going to paint those two walls in baby colors to create the illusion of two different rooms.
The appraiser who came to look at our home gave us a comically low value, killing our renovation plan. But maybe that was for the best (for now, I still * want * a bigger house). So I have to give up my special room, full of cameras, accessories, paper work, knick-knacks, and surprise boxes. I’ve been going through them and wondering if we really need all this stuff. Enter, editing.
How long do we keep things? What are they worth? Am I wasting my time even thinking about it? It all meant something(?) when I originally put it away. But maybe, like a graduate school professor told me, “You’re always worrying about things that don’t matter.”
On that note, did I ever “decide” to keep this or that, or did I just put it in a box because I was afraid to throw it away? Am I keeping it so that I don’t have to let it go? Boxing it up and forgetting about it is easier than making a decision sometimes.
I know I should just take that nine-years unopened box out in the garage (we need space there too) and get rid of it, sight unseen. But I look. And there’s my old Elf Power hat (keep!). And the original receipt and manual for my college bicycle (toss).
Everything you keep forever is something that someone will have to go through after you die. I heard a woman on the radio say that recently when talking about her parents’ deaths. I don’t remember who she was, but the sentiment stuck.
Right now we’ve got a hallway full of books to move out. These are a paring of all the books we have, the ones we can’t get rid of yet. It seems they’d be a better benefit to the world with someone who will read them rather than decorating our shelves. No, I am never going to read “Climbing Anchors, Volume 2” ever again. We’ve trimmed down the book shelves by half, and could get rid of more.
Why is moving things out of one room in the house such an ordeal? And what does it say about me that I’m so attached to a bunch of Dragon magazines from the early 80’s? Sometimes I think I hold on to things just because I’ve been holding on to them for so long. Or because they make me feel like I’m 12. (By the way, nerds, I am getting rid of a bunch of Dragon magazines from the early 80’s.)
Do we just have to keep buying bigger houses as we accumulate the detritus of years?
No. We (I) need to do a better job of letting go, and saying no. This is a skill that’s difficult to come by and hard to keep sharp. And it applies to everything, not just my hoarder tendency. Last night we saw “The Salvation”. It is a tight, unforgiving Western, and exactly as long as it should be. Any more would have been an ordeal. The makers of “What We Do In The Shadows” talked about shooting some hundreds of hours of film and ended up with only about 1% of that in the finished movie (which is hilarious, AND the vampires are scary monsters, as they should be, not like your moody high school boyfriend).
Weeding out is hard to do. But it’s got to be done. In my house, and how I spend my time, and in my mind. I want to get rid of the meaningless junk and focus on what’s important. Only by doing it can I figure it out, eventually (hello, writing exercise!). But for sure I know that there is no need at all to keep that water bill from 2008.
And today we’re off to Ikea to shop for new furniture.