My storage room is clearing nicely. If I stand at the apartment-mansion bedroom window and look toward the door, my vision is not impeded by as many distractions. I’ve removed a shelving rack and plan to remove a second soon. There are fewer boxes. It feels like now I could take a year-long contract out in Minnesota if the money was good enough whereas even a few weeks ago that might have actually been impossible.
I’ve been thinking about my brightest future lately.
It’s not one where I’m inside all day. It’s one where I might bus into the city to explore a bookstore or library to find a next read, find myself somewhere new, or even have the energy to do more abroad or at home. I would prefer to live simply at home: enough for cooking, resting, writing, editing, and some more.
I don’t need all these distractions.
To clear this out correctly, without regrets, and to possibly make an additional dollar for the time I spent outside of writing time which itself could help with that, I have to go through every box. It’s easy in about thirty-minute chunks a few times a week or one two-hour blast. Much of it is mental work. Do I want this? Can I sell that?
What if I could live in a cheap studio?
If I had just enough space where I could live, work, and even entertain, then I would probably get out more. I am currently confined to my living arrangements. My laptop – a symbol of mobility, of working wherever there’s a secure wireless connection and power – is immobile. My life isn’t quite; I’m adapting to life without career adventures, without the seduction of an attractive contract, I am with a pretty job that occasionally shows an ugly side. I’m here for as long as I need to be, to pay for the apartment-mansion downsizing project, and whatever may come next.
I want to be as prepared as possible.
If that means getting rid of things I only have partial attachment to, then I’ll write about enough of it where I can transfer that attachment into an essay. If I can clear out this storage room and live somewhere cheaper, I can invest the money I invest that portion of rent into passive income or alternate revenue streams, cents at a time. I can break free from certain boxes. The boxes that hold me down to this apartment-mansion, the boxes that prevent me from socializing as I can, or even the boxes that prevent me from writing more.
Why can’t I do more of what I love?
My currently biggest blocks are these storage room boxes. If I can clear all of this out, then in a few months when I start looking at where I can live next, they can be smaller places, cheaper, closer, and comfortable. Even if I stay in the apartment-mansion another year, if I could use that space for anything else – reading, writing, or anything like that, then it will be a better use of the space than it is currently, where it just stores my failed attempts at exploration, my old hobbies, and other things that prevent me from becoming the person I want to be: more independently myself.
|Sources: My personal experiences.|
|Inspirations: Originally it was just thinking that I wanted to capture that milestone of clearing out a shelf and writing about how freeing it is, and I use writing to explore my thoughts, so I let my mind linger until I got to that point. The more things you own, the more they own you.|
|Related: Other Downsizing Zeal essays.|
|Photos: View from my storage room without and with the blinds letting light in.|
|Written On: August 10th [28 minutes, mobile]|
|Last Edited: August 12th [No further edits.]|