We moved a couple of weeks ago, and I don't mind telling you that I have never been so glad to be finished with a task. It wasn't easy losing 700 square feet, and to do so we had the even harder task of separating everything into piles labeled keep, trash, donate, and sell.
We had been in the other house almost 14 years and had accumulated a lot of stuff. Over the past couple of weeks, I've let go of items that I considered treasures until I realized I no longer had room for them.
After a day or two, my "carer" stopped working. I didn't care what was thrown out as long as it got me closer to being finished with deciding what to keep. It was grueling. People who are less sentimental - or those who have no heart - probably won't understand the agony associated with letting go. They will just label me a pack rat and laugh it off. I get it.
In the end, I am so glad we moved. For the past 14 years, I've been lost in my own home. It's probably a disorder for which psychology has a name, but I truly felt lost everytime I drove into the old neighborhood.
I have a great sense of direction. I don't remember ever being lost. I've even driven through Los Angeles with no map or GPS -Orange County to Santa Ana and back - and felt confident of my direction. For some reason, however, in our former neighborhood I could never even figure out simple east from west. I think it had to do with the circular street layout. It was a feeling that I hated.
Now that we've moved, our house faces east, and I feel like I've been freed from a maze. It's a strange phenomenon that I probably should research. The lost feeling was sickening and depressing. Now, looking out my front door at a sunrise every morning is refreshing and freeing.
Two life lessons here:
1) I suspect that each of us is tightly clutching something that we could live without.
2) If you can't shake that sick depression, maybe it's time to leave the maze.
I once was lost, but now I'm found,
Was blind but now I see.