Season of Change

Over the next few weeks, this blog will be moving away from Blogger to Word Press and, in the process of that move, will find its own domain.

Since I am in the process of moving my tangible things into another living space over the next few weeks, we can expect that neither moving adventure will go quickly and uneventfully.

My upcoming move, the tangible one, has been an eye-opener for me on the amount of stuff that I have that I no longer want. I’ve continuously influenced my husband to get rid of things he doesn’t use or need. As our needs as a family and as individuals change, I can constantly identify more things that can get the ol’ heave ho’ out of our lives.

My husband suggested, “Let’s sell everything but the beds.” and that was awesome until I realized he was joking in an effort to see if I was really seriously when I declared just moments before, “I’m so over having stuff.”

I remember back to when I had my own one-bedroom apartment. I didn’t have crap. It was awesome. I remember back to when I was a single mother of two in an one-bedroom apartment. We didn’t have anything beyond what the kids needed and my cheap-o e-machine desktop computer. It was also awesome. Who gets so much delight out of having nothing? Me.

The question is, Why?

Well, I have theories but mostly it’s because I like to avoid turning into my mother who, among many things that are undesirable to normal people, is a hoarder. I appreciate not having to worry about so many things and get attached to so many things. Who cares about things? Fill my home with people! People make life awesome! And room to breathe. And the ability to keep things clean.

I caught myself hoarding books. When I go into a depression, I like having lots and lots of books. Maybe it’s to reassure myself that I’m smart? I’m not sure what the psychology is behind this fetish. I adore old books. I love the smell and the feel of old books. But any books will do when I’m depressed. The more books, the better, to lift my spirits. So I knew I had to purge my library.

New Rules:

  • No non-fiction books that will not be used as reference material.
  • No fiction books that have been read and won’t be read again.

The second rule is wide open to interpretation but, being honest with myself, I only reread my Victor Hugo novels and Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt. I reread these on an almost annual basis. There’s no room for, “I might reread these at some point.” Nope. Gone. If my children want to read these books at some point in their lives, they can check them out at the library or buy their own.

So I ended up with a huge stack of books ready to leave my ownership, including the ones my husband tried to sneak back into the keep boxes when he thought I wasn’t looking. These books will be donated to my church for their big annual Christmas Bizarre. It’s easier to let them sort and deal with selling them and then they keep the money than to have to manage them through the rummaging and dickering of yard sales just to earn a few bucks.

I always said that the one thing I hate about moving is the books. Now, I will be down to three boxes of books, not counting the children’s books (which are an additional 2 boxes). This is phenomenal and it feels phenomenal.


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