How much are you comfortable sacrificing to achieve your goals? What personal/professional comforts will you give up in order to do what you find most valuable? Would you give up a good paying job if it got you closer to your goals? Would you donate a childhood collection of pencils you’ll never appreciate again so that you could free up the time, space, and mental energy for everything else you want to do in life?
I donated my former favorite hoodie today. If there were any regrets, it’d be over wondering and wishing if things could have worked out so I didn’t need to downsize, but that’s not a positive mindset for me. Instead, I’ve adopted a methodology for keeping or donating: Is it worth $10? This hoodie is probably in a cloth bale being shipped overseas, but it wouldn’t be worth $10 for me to retrieve. Why would I keep it?
“Do you really need it? Do you have their complete discography? You should narrow down your collections from 100… to 3.” After having moved almost everything into the new apartment, my relief over getting my overwhelming housing situation squared away was a 10th of the emotion I felt. More so, I felt disgusted. How could I own so much stuff? So many collections I barely enjoy. If I have 100 collections, I know now I only care about… 3.
When I’m bored, if I ever am, I never think about playing board games. If I’m not writing in a semi-professional capacity, I’m working on a large writing project, or decompressing by writing a casual essay here. I’ll do other things, but board games just aren’t something I want to pursue as a professional, amateur board game designer, or even casual player. Maybe if invited? Otherwise, I have no use to keep board game boxes.
I have some difficult decisions to make soon. I’ve put together my first post-move round of stuff to assess whether I can sell, donate, or trash. Scarce few items may go back for me to reassess later, but I’ve chosen these items because they have limited aesthetics, nostalgia, or utility. I have harder decisions left, yet these decisions have kept me up tonight, thinking about them, so let’s explore the attachment to a childhood guitar…
All of my thoughts fired simultaneously for hours. I have so many things that I need to rearrange that I’m experiencing sensory overload anxiety, even now, laying on my bed focusing only on writing. Closing my eyes and focusing on my heartbeat, I noticed it was beating incredibly fast, so it’s time to lay down and decompress my thoughts. I think the problem is assessing the past, present, and future of all of this clutter.
When I’m knee-deep in writing, my only focus is on completing the next thought. I’m not thinking about the weather outside, the clutter inside, exercise, or anything else. Until I get into that writing flow, any distraction can impair my progress, so I’ve found it best to write somewhere with a refrained amount of external information. Currently, I’m writing in front of my “downsizing wall.” I would write facing outside, but this chair isn’t ideal…
When I was in the old place, it was easy to put stuff away and forget about it. Here, everything is on ugly display, clogging everywhere that isn’t urgently needed. Two hallways? The one with less priority gets filled. Wide hallways? I’ll put boxes anywhere there’s not somewhere where I can easily trip. This situation is terribly loathsome to me. I hate this messy predicament. How will I/we get myself/ourselves out of our messy situations?
I’ve moved almost everything from my former residence to my new apartment. Now I must downsize my possessions even further. Even though I got rid of the most obvious stuff before signing the year-long lease here, the ten days it took me to move in instilled this sense that I must downsize even further. If I want to have an office, “Zeal,” then I can’t have all this stuff obstructing my literal or figurative path.
About once or thrice a week, I’ll imagine that I’m not actually moving. It’s not that something will snap me out of it. Looking at an empty space won’t remind me that this is all real. It’s usually just an instantaneous thought, my mind, in disbelief, struggling to catch up with inevitabilities, innocently screening my mind with memories of life a year or five ago. It’s like how photos can really make us time travel…