About two weeks ago, I down-sized. This involved leaving a 4,000 square foot home and moving what I could not give away into a ranch half that size. How is it going? Slowly.
And I talk to myself a lot.
I can characterize my very unwarp-like speed by describing a box lid, now morphed into two box lids, filled to overflowing with things I want to keep but have no idea where to put. In this process of down-sizing, I have moved from a bedroom-sized office complete with file cabinets, an expandable work table (AKA desk), storage cabinets, and comfy oversized lounging furniture – you know, just in case I feel the need for a break – to a red painted cabinet that houses my computer and the bare essentials of office equipment that I desperately want to maintain as organized and functional. And there is still the kitchen table for when I want to stretch out. Multi-functional works in my brain.
I am blessed. Truly.
These two box lids and I, however, are developing an adversarial relationship. They refuse to present a solution to me, and so they remain, day after day, greedily concealing the beautiful quartz island we paid a fortune for. Occasionally I begin to look through their contents, and then, I pull my hands away and mutter something like, “Oh, is that where that went?” or “Tomorrow. Yes, probably tomorrow.” I have the best intentions, and yet the box lids remain.
I could look at the piles as treasure waiting to be found again. I could separate each precious item into some piles of relatedness – divide and conquer, a step at a time, large to small and voila! Or I could take the box lids to the basement, clear my counter, and be done with them. I know I have choices here. I like choices. Mostly.
I think the real challenge is that while making this transition, so many things call to me. For example, I spend an inordinate amount of time looking on the internet for rugs to cover my floors before my dogs’ nails destroy them. I have made endless trips to the Home Depot for many necessities and traveled the learning curves of new appliances and light switches. I still have taped boxes in the basement.
My psychotherapist partner would ask what part of myself the boxes represent, and I am grateful for her non-judgmental take on boxes that also intrude on her space. She is transitioning too: a successful business, smaller space, new everything. She reportedly does “not transition well.” I must concur.
I know transition. I get it. I am a transitional coach, after all. So, turning my skills on my own situation, I prepare to ask myself a question. The coach coaches the coach.
I already know the answers as the questions bounce around my head. I love the sense of accomplishment from completing a task. I value an orderly environment when it comes to my surroundings. I want to enjoy my new island. I am by nature a treasure hunter, even finding treasure within.
So . . . what do you think I will choose to do with my box lids? What would you choose?
(I got everything into one box lid, and it now resides in my red computer cabinet!)