I cleaned out the coat closet today. I removed coats from the rack on the back of the front door. I stripped the coats from the coat trees. The entryway looks bare.
I feel like I’m dismantling our life here one coat tree at a time.
Then I cleaned out the tall sturdy four-drawer metal filing cabinet. Three drawers are empty now, so I was able to push, pull, and rock it into a more suitable place in the storage room. I ran out of energy or I would have transferred items from the two-drawer filing cabinet into the empty drawers of the four-drawer cabinet . . . so I can rid myself of the tw0-drawer cabinet. That’s a task for another day.
I am giving away the items I’ve cobbled together here in this life, in this house. Anyone want the top bed from a bunk bed set?
I rolled up the deflated swimming pool and shoved it into a too-small packing box.
I have never lived in this sort of blank space before . . . inhabiting a life which will break into a thousand pieces and float away, leaving me to cling to its wreckage.
Oh, wait! That makes it sound like moving is a bad thing. And it’s not. It’s a good thing. But we’ve been here so long that it feels a lot like loss rather than progress.
A few months ago, after I heard about several friends my age who are adopting, I said to my husband, “Why would anyone do that? Why would you want to disrupt your life and adopt at this age?”
Even as I spoke those words, I realized that our own lives are being disrupted . . . and that disruption and change is part of life.
If disruption and change were offered in a buffet, I would never scoop a helping of them onto my plate. But life seems more like a cafeteria line and you get a serving of everything, whether you like it or not.
And sometimes you don’t know what’s good for you.