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!)
To transitions!
Coach Leona
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