Now that I viscerally understand that publishing a five-star book will not make me rich (I still refuse to believe that I don’t have a shot at being famous), Carol and I have come to terms with the fact that it’s time to downsize from our big house in North Phoenix, to a smaller one in South Phoenix.
The word down in downsizing has such negative connotations. Down means less, lower, depressed. Then there’s breakdown, lock-down, meltdown, knockdown, rundown showdown, and letdown, not to mention downcast, downfall, downhearted, downgrade, downtrodden, and what goes up must come down. Buying a smaller house means a fond farewell to our huge combined collection of cassette and VHS tapes, a wall of books I haven’t read since college, six boxes of 25-year-old classroom paraphernalia, clothes that will fit me someday (if I ever get a terminal wasting disease), a drawer full of gifts that are so unwanted I can’t even bring myself to re-gift them, and an extra closet full of bed linens that have seen eighty times more sex than I have now.
There is a part of me that will miss being wrapped in the comfort of my past, but I must admit that there is a certain amount of liberation that goes with the release of material things. Goodbye and good riddance to the pool, for instance, a bittersweet parting with the beautiful landscaping that I’ve tended – to the point of heatstroke, and au revoir to you, stuffed Easter Bunny Candy Holder with motion detector. From now on, I will visit you at Dott’s house!
Divesting of “stuff” is CRAZY liberating, but this is from the word of a divorcee who went from 4-bedroom house to one-bedroom apartment, so take it for what it’s worth. Also, that bunny is creepy.
Thanks a lot, Kelly! Now I’ll be hearing hop. hop. hop. in the middle of the night.