I'm spending these few days of homelessness thinking ahead to how we will make all of our stuff fit into the new house. Our family is probably typical in that if you give us a big house, we will fill it up. The crunch is now upon us to let go of some of that stuff in order to live in a house roughly one-third the size of our former home.
Much has been written about why so many of us get into this acquisition game. Is it materialism? Can we blame television advertising? Must we keep up with the latest techno gizzmo? I am not particularly proud of the boxes and storage bins full of things that are no longer used regularly. Yet, as a child of a member of the Greatest Generation, I feel guilty in letting go.
But let go I must or we will be like the little lady I once visited while working with the elderly at a senior center. When I finally gained enough of her trust to be let into her home, I found mounds of junk mail stacked so high I lost sight of the little lady as we wound through the maze in what was once a living room. She pointed to a vacant chair, the only one I might add, and there I sat trying to help her straighten her bills and checkbook out. From my spot I could see into the kitchen where every surface was covered with tin cans, wrappings, foil. Nothing had been thrown out for at least the last ten years it seemed. The whole time I was there, the little lady worried I would turn her in. I didn't, choosing instead to work on her over time to deal with the hoarding.
So with this memory, I set about on a new adventure. As a designer, I am well aware of the adage, "Less is more." I'll be writing more about the adventure. We close on tiny Tudor this Friday.