Clear Your Space...Clear Your Mind #12

Chapter 7 ~ Spring...continued

     I’ve been moving Lisa for two years, and we’ve been talking about moving for several more.  In the grand scheme of things, taking this long to do anything is not remarkable, and even has some wisdom.  As evidenced by Joyce, moving requires adjustment, especially when you’ve been ensconced in one locale for a prolonged period of time.

      It’s one thing to be on vacation where you know that for a brief period of time nothing will be the same.  That’s why you take the trip, for the variety, the adventure.  But when home, you count on things to go a certain way.  You can picture your bed and walk the course to the bathroom with your eyes shut.  The changes moving precipitates, even trivial ones, can be confusing.

     I had my own encounter with this phenomenon.  Jim’s office faced the East and was blessed with two windows, capturing the morning light.  My office had one window, and although facing South, my neighbor’s house blocked much of the available sunlight.  There was this brief window of time sunshine would pour in, but you’d have to alter your schedule to be present for the light show.

     I am traditionally the first one out of bed and morning is dedicated to sitting at my desk, coffee in hand.  On my way to the kitchen to brew the elixir I’d peek in at Jim’s vacant office.  There the sun’s rays streamed in.  He was still asleep while all that glorious vitamin D was going to waste.  Priceless liquid gold, unappreciated and neglected, while my office felt like a cave.  I griped about it on a number of occasions and Jim agreed to switch offices - what a guy.  This swap was unquestionably an upgrade for me.  In addition to two easterly facing windows, the room was larger, boasting two closets.  My need for a space that was fresh, efficient, and a statement of who I was, meant a complete rehab before I could move in. 

     I wanted to eliminate the wall-to-wall carpeting and expose the wood floors beneath.  This was a job that would require muscle (and possibly blood) so our son Spencer’s help was reassuring.  I counted on his strength and calm demeanor to accomplish this task.  We ripped and rolled, we schlepped and hauled;  it was a big job and I wondered how the floor had held up over the years.  Once the carpet was gone the oak planks were revealed.  They appeared surprisingly unscathed, with just enough scuffmarks to be charming as opposed to disgusting.

      It was time to paint.  My new office needed a fresh color.  Choosing one was intimidating and I was afraid of making a commitment.  I love all colors and picking one felt tantamount to “Sophie’s Choice”.   I toyed with a neutral shade for it’s staying power, like that classic little black dress, but remembered a color I had seen at my friend Sheryl’s house.  It was a beautiful mossy green and looked great on her walls, “What the heck, I’ll borrow from her,”  I thought.  It wasn’t your typical neutral shade, like white, but green spoke of nature, naturally neutral.  I felt inspired - it reminded me of spring.

     With the painting complete it was time to bring in the furniture, my favorite part.  It was a beautiful moment when it all came together.  With everything in place and my computer poised for business, I sat at my desk to admire our efforts.  I immediately felt anxious.  The computer was in a different location on my desk.  Instead of an empty area to my left, it was now to my right.  The file cabinet was farther away and I would have to get up from my chair to reach it.  The window, previously on the right, was now on my left.  The whole kit and caboodle was reversed, and my desk chair had this annoying habit of rolling towards the door when it hit the spot where the floor sagged.  Aach, this was frustrating.  I was nauseous.

      The next morning I tried again.  Yes, the sun poured in, but it created a glare on my computer screen.  Hmmmmm…I would have to purchase window treatments, probably wear sunscreen. 

I was discouraged, realizing my new dream office required a complete re-orientation.  I began to worry I had underestimated the convenience of my smaller, darker room where everything was in reach, familiar and cozy.  

     After running downstairs to forage for food or change a load of laundry, I’d head for my office, finding myself in Jim’s instead.  My body and brain had a well-worn path to that well-known location.  Adapting and changing this habit took conscious effort with so many little adjustments to make.  I began to question if my fantasy office was a horrible mistake.  

     Then it struck me;  this is what many of my clients experience.  I felt like the doctor becoming the patient.  I was getting a firsthand insight into the assimilation one must make when even minor things change.  If this kind of uneasiness is present when switching two rooms around, moving into a new home is monumental.  I began to appreciate Lisa’s need to take it slow.  I now understood her concern, having a deeper regard for what she was going through.  Her house was filled with well-worn pathways and these habitual routes, it felt safe and familiar. 

     Logically, Lisa understood that a downsize was in the cards.  Good sense told her it was time to move on.  Her house required fixing, repairing, replacing;  it was much more work than Lisa could handle.  Her children were grown, and in spite of the sweet memories and traditions the house held, moving felt like providence. 

     Downsizing means less room and consequently less stuff; obviously you can’t take it all with you.  When you’ve spent the majority of your life in the same place it’s natural to have amassed an assortment of goods.  Children’s bedrooms are often still intact.  Basements and attics are crowded with school work, art projects, old furniture;  all need to be assessed.  Bottom line, it takes time to sort it out, and this exercise is a trip down memory lane. 

     Letting go of the multitude of unused or unloved articles is enlightening and agitating, all at the same time.  It can take you by surprise.  Confusion ensues when you unearth the Easter candy rotting in baskets stashed away.  Bewilderment arises as you discover the thank-you notes your thirteen year old meant to send, they are now twenty-something.   It’s all rather disconcerting and can take weeks, months, or even years to work your way through it. 

     This process for Lisa and me has been simultaneously joyful and excruciating, but now I had an added awareness of what she faced.  Lisa understood, more than I, the need to transition slowly.  She would take it at a leisurely pace, and I admired her ability to know herself so deeply.

     Slowly, but surely, we worked together purging and sorting.  We continued to forge ahead, for the someday move, if it ever happened.  We handled the same things over and over again, for Lisa had trouble committing to her belongings’ final departure.  What was determined to be outdated one year was re-evaluated and decreed to be in style the next.  We spent years eradicating the unused, the broken, the neglected;  each time taking massive quantities of stuff out to the garage.  When I suggested the stuff move from the garage to donation, Lisa was reticent.  “I have to show it to my kids.  I know my housekeeper will want that.  This is good stuff, I might have a need for it …someday.”  Items purged a year prior, still sat in the garage, waiting for someone to survey their usefulness.  As time marched on none of the items did. 

     Through it all we continued to move bits and pieces out to our staging headquarters, the garage, generating huge amounts.  Little of it disappeared.  The garage became an organizer’s nightmare.  Maybe there would be a yard sale, but there wasn’t.  Lisa couldn’t commit to the irrevocability of it;  she couldn’t surrender.

     One beautiful spring day Lisa went house shopping with a friend.  Like “Miracle on 34th Street”, there was her new house.  It was the perfect fit, like a glove.  Lisa bought it on the spot.  Now she had two houses.  The next obvious step would be to sell the old one, but Lisa wasn’t ready, it held too many memories, and too much stuff.  There were well-worn pathways, and Lisa was in no hurry to let it go.  Keeping her old house was becoming a real option, and rather than downsize, Lisa would expand. 

     I imagined the stuff we had been purging and stashing in the garage would eventually disappear, but if Lisa kept both houses that would never happen.  This worried me as I did not want our efforts to have been in vain.  If not for the financial ramifications, I do think Lisa might have hung onto both.  Finally she put a “for sale” sign on her front lawn.  It was “By Appointment Only”.  Interested parties were asked to call, and they did, but Lisa did not return their calls.

     This dilemma actually held some promise.  Lisa had the opportunity to visit her new house while still living in the old one.  Although not lined up with getting rid of the old one, over time, Lisa brought things into the new one. 

     She stocked the fridge with food.  She filled the kitchen cabinets with dishes.  As she performed these steps Lisa got more comfortable, like rehearsing lines for a play.  What Lisa did was fascinating, and I applauded how she went about it.  This was a big adjustment and she knew herself so well.  I likened it to sending your toddler off to nursery school.  That first day the parent gets to stay and each consecutive day the time allowed to hang around decreases.  Eventually you drop your pre-schooler off without major separation anxieties, for either of you.

     Lisa transitioned at a gentle speed.  This allowed her to create new pathways:  to her office, to the bathroom, to the fridge.  The more things Lisa moved into her new house, the more it began to feel like home.  The day her bed arrived was the day Lisa, in earnest, put her old house on the market.  Lisa was now sleeping in her new house.  She still spent time in the old one, visiting her belongings, but at the end of the day she left.  Lisa began to let go.  Soon Lisa’s house sold and the move became permanent.

     The last day, after the closing, the garage was still full of stuff.  The yard sale never happened.  Her children took what they wanted.  The remainder was to be donated and we waited for the truck to arrive.  After all the contents were gone Lisa and I were left to inspect the vacant space the garage had finally become.  It was a bittersweet moment.  We walked through the house, thanking it for serving her well, and Lisa and I moved on.

to be continued...