Closet Clutter Clearing Therapy…
“We’re in contract.”
One sentence that culminates a whirlwind search for where to live when my husband retires.
It began with a one day trip to the beach at Ocean Shores,
where my husband indulged my need to stare at the ocean with my feet in the sand for 5 long blessed hours….
Something I’ve been craving since Mother passed.
And then a short drive around the peninsula…
A discovery of a new fun beach development…
Sandy lots available at just $15,000 each…
and a flicker of hope in my subconscious mind..
That maybe, just maybe, despite the 2008 crash and subsequent losses…
Maybe, just maybe, we could have our own little place again…
And maybe it would be a bungalow at the beach…
A few conversations with realtors and mortgage brokers,
and we were amazed to be “invited” back into the world of the living…
Where people who are considered trustworthy are offered mortgages to buy houses…
We are invited to get back into debt.
Imaginations ran wild.
Lighthouses.
Boat storage business.
Merry go round.
Kite store.
Short term rentals.
Oh, the possibilities!
Eventually coming back to earth,
We realized that retirees who build dream houses in tiny beach towns eventually leave…
for health reasons…
or for better amenities…
and houses where there is no real job market don’t appreciate…
And if we were really going to get back into home ownership, where would we REALLY want to live?
Eenie meenie mienie mo…
Where on earth do we want to go…
We wrote our wish list and started studying housing markets…
“We’re in contract”.
The decision is done.
But the work has only just begun.
Clutter clearing, here we come!
I watched a sappy sweet Christmas movie,
turned on a sentimental Christmas music playlist,
and headed for my closet.
Yep… the closet I couldn’t really clean when I went through
Clutter Clearing Class the first time a couple years ago.
This time, with the promise of a beautiful new home as motivation, I began.
Touching each piece of clothing, I muscle tested yes or no.
Yes to keep and no to let go…
The yes’s stayed on their hangers…
The no’s made it to the closet floor.
Some were obviously past their prime…
Hidden deep in the closet I’d ignored them for 3 years…
But some surprised me…
They were things I still wear…
Things I like, even…
And some brand spankin’ new…
But never worn….
Why were they never worn?
Because I had changed.
I became a new me –
And this is a new day.
Ready or not…
The music jangled on…
But my tears began to flow…
Do I really have to let go?
Yes What am I letting go of?
Why am I crying?
What is this fear?
It’s not the clothes.
I am letting go of the me that I was when I wore these items every day…
When I was young and slender and lithe and quick and vibrant….
I am letting go of the pain I felt when I was so sick
and my children cleaned out my closet of many favorites,
thinking I would never get well again…
they thought they were doing me a favor…
and maybe they were,
but it didn’t feel that way then.
“Let go of the old, you you can make room for the new.”
That’s what they say, but when you’re not ready,
it feels more like pain and grief and loss.
What if letting go of the old releases the loss?
What if letting go of the old empowers you to live fully in the present moment?
I feel the energy lift.
I lived 20 when I was 20.
40 when I was 40.
And now as I am now…
Wiping the tears away, I continue…
This time, on purpose…
the letting go is totally on my own terms.
“We are under contract”…
Which means we made a conscious choice for where to live
for the next however many years we’ll be embodied on this planet as Kevin and Jo Lyn…
It’s been a journey of faith,
of conscious choices,
and careful budgeting.
Good stewards.
Good stewards of the resources we know we will have for the long term…
And if you’re health is such that your world shrinks to the size of a box…
I say, let that box be beautiful!
Take only what you really want.
Bring with you only what serves you in the now.
Accept and be the you that you are today…
Jeanie Brosius King and Marie Kondo would be proud of me.
I am proud of me.
I manage to pick up the pile of clothes from the floor an armful at a time.
My balance a bit wobbly – I am grateful for the door moldings that my fingers hang on to,
Supporting me as I shuffle from here to there.
My thoughts flicker to my friend who can no longer walk at all…
I muscle test each item on the bed.
Separating them into piles,
one to keep,
one for my daughter,
and one to let go…
The keep pile is small,
And as the other two grow,
I find my words changing from “let go” to “give”.
And along with the words, feelings of gratitude flow…
Give.
Give.
Give.
And Live.
Thank You, Thank You, Thank You.
It has only just begun.
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