Letting Go: Making Space for What Matters
I’m nearly a week late with this blog post for good reasons.
Our fabulous contractor had an unexpected opening. Some long-delayed home projects started with just a couple of days’ notice. With the assistance of my amazing Natalie and a talented friend (Heather Martin, who owns a terrific business called Breathing Room), paint colors and new furniture were quickly secured.
A frank talk with my daughter and some good perspectives from Heather have been enough to get me to reconsider my space and stuff. Both Natalie and Heather encouraged me to consider what I wanted from the room. The answer was one (Danish) word: hygge. I wanted better storage for books, less stuff overall, more comfortable seating, and better lighting. A comfortable space.
The questions I’m asking myself about this space specifically (and my home in general) are my writing questions: What do I take? What do I leave? What do I remember? What can I forget? What sustains me?
To achieve the space - and the life - I want, I’m saying goodbye to things that no longer serve me.
Things are in disarray (an understatement). This makes me anxious. But the upheaval has provided some valuable lessons, the key being that it is okay to let go of things that no longer serve me. But it’s also - sometimes - incredibly hard.
This particular lesson was brought home to me in the form of a table that belonged to my great-grandparents. They lived in humble economic circumstances, so it’s not a fancy table. The table was given to me, along with my grandmother’s bedroom set. The table has been my Goldilocks piece of furniture (too small, too large, never just right for any space). Despite numerous attempts over the years to repair it, it's also incredibly rickety. But I’ve been reluctant to let it go for many reasons. Natalie had a tough talk with me on her most recent visit about "stuff." She noted that the table would be "end of the line" with me because she wouldn't want it after I was gone.
Discussions about mortality are very in keeping with Lent. A couple of Lents ago, I read Margareta Magnusson’s The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning: How to Free Yourself and Your Family from a Lifetime of Clutter (The Swedish Art of Living & Dying Series). It’s been helpful in my current paring down process, which will take several months to unfold as I move from room to room. One goal is to leave less stuff for Natalie to manage when I pass away.
So, the table: I thanked it for its service (Marie Kondo’s advice is good here). We moved it to a sheltered place on our back patio, where it’s enjoying a new life holding a lovely plant. I also enjoy it more in this space, admiring the dark, scarred wood as I sit on the patio listening to bird songs. I didn't know my great-grandparents well, but I have a small framed photo of them in an American Gothic-style pose at their home in McComb, Mississippi, in the 1930s. That’s enough.
As I have evaluated the stuff we’ve accumulated over the years, I realized a lot of it just came to us, everything from furniture to serving dishes. It came from family and neighbors who passed away.
Some of the things that came into our home were invited by a kind of sympathy for “lost objects” that overcomes me in antique stores, garage sales, and church rummage sales. A lovely object, a photo, a book, a little worn at the heels, needing a new home and story. I’ve been like this since childhood: a collector of objects, the “keeper of things.”
The reconfigured space promises to be glorious. The primary paint color - Moonmist - is luminous and makes me calm and serene. Everything is bright and clean. A warm rose-colored wall in the kitchen brings out the color of the kitchen's original tile. I'm getting rid of many things and doing my spring cleaning early. Some of the items have already been claimed by friends who need these particular things at this moment in their lives.
The overall result will be less “stuff” and a better arrangement of what we have, surrounding me with things I love: books, music, art, and plants.
I'll share some pictures when the work is done.
What objects hold sentimental value, but no longer serve you? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below!