Residential Moving Psychosis
Downsizing.
I’ve done it before, at least twice — once the second time I was divorced, and then again the year I moved to Seattle. But the thing is, I’d only owned each of those places for a year or two before I sold them.
Larry and I have owned the house that is our Seattle home for 27 years. Larry owned it by himself for three years before we married, and hasn’t cleaned the basement once in those 30 years. After the first time I fell down the basement steps, I never ventured down there much. But Larry accumulated 30 years of papers, photos, tools, sporting gear, old office machinery, paint and oil and cleaning fluid, and nice wood he might possibly use one day. You cannot help a person who considers sorting paper clips and rubber bands worth the while.
Moreover, basements are evil incarnate. (Can something inanimate be incarnate?) They’re full of dust and old spider webs. Sorting out 30 years of stuff that covers the whole spectrum from Completely Valueless Object to Prized Souvenir is a nightmare. The basement, attic, or garage where you do the sorting is only the dysphoric landscape where the monster lives. The box you haven’t opened since you stashed it there 30 years ago is the monster itself.
At first, I tried to help him. It was useless. After collecting a few relatively full bottles of Pine Sol and ammonia, I abandoned the project. Larry trudged on. Three days later, he had maybe a dozen boxes. Such a struggle we have with our stuff. People I’ve talked to about it, talk about cleaning out the house after their parents died. All right!
I’m never moving my own stuff again. They’ll have to dig me out of this house with a stick. Now that I’m old enough, I’m planning to leave all of the boxes that now reside in our garage in Santa Barbara for my children to worry about after I’m gone.
I’m beginning to feel that way about a lot of things lately. There isn’t really enough time left for me to fix anything that’s gone wildly wrong (and a few things have, for sure).
There’s a certain relief that the running of things is now off my shoulders. There’s a woman running for President this year, something I never thought I’d see; and I feel personally responsible for part of that, at least inasmuch as I pursued my own ambitions. I’ve put in my time as a feminist, and as an ally of the LGBT movement; I’ve tried to support the people of color I’ve encountered. So. Now I guess it’s up to Gen X and the Millennials. And they are so young! Egads, and so forth — as old people always say.
Judy Stevens Long, PhD 
Comments on: "RMP" (2)
Thanks Judy! Your post reminds me of the experience my now husband and I had buying a house and moving last year and him moving out of a flat in San Francisco where he lived for nearly 49 years. He wrote about in the post The Sacred Life of Boxes in David_sibbet.com. He also talks about much more in it but thought I share.
Love your writing and sense of humor
Gisela Wendling Sent from my iPhone
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I appreciate your sentiments and how strongly they are felt, Judy.
Letting Go:
So much human development and spirituality literature talks about the importance of letting go. …If it were easy, so many thought leaders and spiritual gurus wouldn’t have to talk about it so much.
You seem to have a healthy ability to do it. I’m really curious from where your ability arises. If you did a phenomenological study, including earliest poignant memories, etc, of your experience of letting go, we could all learn a lot from you.
Also, based on a small, anecdotal sample set, it seems men have more difficulty than women. I’m curious what are your thoughts in terms of HD about that.
Maintenance and Fixing:
Your point about not enough time left to fix anything that has gone wildly wrong also strikes many chords. This general idea is consistent with the positive psychology and strengths-based schools of thought. So much of our life is consumed with maintenance and fixing. On one hand, homeostasis is almost the definition of life. But on the other hand, poesis/creatura is the definition. Perhaps if we spent more time creating and less time fixing, we’d have a more fulfilling life. It seems to me that you have been tremendously creative, so your statement may be more of a continuation than a change? I wonder if your behavior is the same, but the sentiment feels different because of the dissonance created by the move.
Also, the idea of “not enough time left” strikes many chords. Perhaps I’ve lived my whole life feeling there is not enough time left. Deadline after deadline–all constructions of others and myself. For example, I sprinted anaerobically through Fielding. Why? I think I feel that life is short. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow, or fall off the treadmill and die (Sheryl Sandberg’s husband). At this moment it seems to me that feeling life is short helps us live each day to the fullest, lest we live like Meursault in Albert Camus’ “The Stranger.” It also helps us consider what are the real priorities vs what really doesn’t matter.
Love, Brett