In order to reinvent my life I must divest myself of fragments from my past. Like my best memories of Martin, I’m keeping the possessions, which are dear to me. I’m not seeking a minimalist lifestyle, but one honoring our past while giving breath to what lies ahead of me. Unlike past decluttering this one requires a wisdom imbued with greater purpose.
I had a longtime habit of cleaning out closets and drawers each January as my version of out with the old, in with the new. Somewhere along the path I’m on that annual ritual went by the wayside. When we sold our South Carolina house, I did a major declutter. Or, so I thought.
In preparation for the sale of my Michigan house, I began going through drawers and closets with the purpose of decluttering. As I cleared drawers of stuff, I also considered furniture, which won’t fit in my new smaller home. Lists of things to donate and items to sell forced me to realize I wasn’t decluttering; this was the big purge.
There were obvious items that must go, like Martin’s bicycle, gear and outfits along with sport coats, dress shirts, slacks, leather belts and shoes. No reason for any of it to languish in closets and cubbies when someone else could make good use of it. It took two weeks for me to act on selling Martin’s bike. I cleaned it, polished it and looked at it day in and day out. I felt frozen in time, slogging through quick sand. After mustering the courage to drop his clothing at Good Will, I felt relief. Then, a few hours later, came a serious meltdown as grief washed over me in a torrent of tears. Divesting myself of his belongings was accepting he would never walk through the door again. Once I was all cried out, I let go of the bicycle as well. It was a kind of release.
As I sort through our lifetime with a mostly clear head I didn’t have in 2019, I often ask myself why I paid to have this or that hauled from South Carolina. Taking a page from organizational expert Marie Kondo, so much of what I had didn’t spark joy. “Did it spark joy for me?”, became my precept, albeit one which is resulting in keeping a few things that may not evoke a modern farmhouse style. Looking at my Great-Great Aunt Josephine’s crystal jewelry box, I opened it. I lifted out a chestnut. Hard and brown my Mother carried it in her purse as a talisman. As I ran my fingers over its smooth rich decades old surface this memento from my Mother was now my symbol of juju, mojo, good luck. A practical woman, a strong woman, her spirit would help me push through this arduous task.
As with the chestnut, possessions carry energy in the memories they summon in our spirits. I looked at the five sets of dishes from the dinner group we belonged to in the 1990’s. I hadn’t needed nor used all this entertainment paraphernalia in decades. The dishes, napkins and rings, table clothes and serving dishes. In an epiphany I realized it was the memories I was holding onto, memories of those evenings when we gathered monthly to break bread. Fun nights like the mystery dinners where we dressed up as various characters in a whodunit. And then, there was the toga party where neighbors must have thought we were crazy traipsing through our garden, glasses of red wine in hand, with our guests, all of us dressed in bed sheets! I would keep the memories and some of the accoutrements, but it was time for most of the physical trappings to go.
Following my second car load of memories taken to Good Will the picture was becoming clear. There were certain objects, furniture, glass ware, keepsakes I would never part with. Antique pieces from both our families needed to stay with me a while longer. A few pieces of the furniture we bought during our marriage were now vintage, slightly marred with scratches or glass rings where a coaster went unused. There is no place for a couple of items in my to-be-built new home, but I’m making a place.
The large marble coffee table in the great room was originally on the chopping block. Then came the evening I sat in front of the fire place mindfully looking at its smooth surface and rough edges, the tiny scratches from grandchildren running toy cars across it along with a few water marks from spilled drinks. Martin and I had gone to The Street of Dreams charity event while living in Seattle. In an 11,000 square foot show house sat a marble coffee table dazzling us both. A couple weeks later Martin went on a motorcycle ride returning to announce he’d found such a table at Frederick and Nelson Department Store. He wanted to buy it. And so did I. I knew now I couldn’t part with it. It represented a joint purchase, a joint love of beautiful things. Though now imperfect with blemishes from nearly 40 years of use, this table also represents the joyous imperfection of our lives. As with ourselves, we looked upon the blemishes as character. There are possessions, which are just baggage. And, then, there are things, which warm my heart each day, that spark joy and must continue to color my life. Despite its ultra modern look the marble table stays.
As I empty the house of remnants of my past life I feel less overwhelmed, lighter, more forward looking. I’m honoring my past. And, making room for my future.