Let it go

Committing to criss-crossing the country in an RV required some serious lifestyle changes. Fortunately, I slimmed down years ago, taking off 40 pounds and keeping most of them off. Taking up less space is a good idea when you decide to share a tiny house on wheels with your soulmate.

But my waist was only one of many things downsized. It was pretty much everything. We sold the five-bedroom house. We got rid of the furniture, most of the kitchen gear, the utility trailer, the motorcycle, the scooter, the beer fridges, the drum kit, the lawn tractor and the garden tools. The radio collection, mostly gone. Golf clubs, CDs, vinyl albums, books, DVDs, VHS tapes, clothing. It was the mother of all yard sales. Trip after trip to the thrift store. What’s left? Clothing. Tools. Special art. The good knives. Beer gear. Kitchen gear. Bicycles. This and that.

People love their stuff. Getting rid of 90 percent of it was no small feat. It required 12-hour days of sweat and occasional blood. Not many tears, though, honestly. I was sad about parting with some of our possessions. But here’s the crazy thing; a year later, I don’t remember which.

It’s weird. And I would not have predicted it. We surround ourselves with so much stuff and baggage and detritus, it becomes part of our identities. The collections, the tchotchkes, mementos and souvenirs. Your favorite coffee mug, knife, pot, books, gifts and works of art. I know for a fact that, at the time, I was sure I would miss gizmo A or gadget B. Today, only the emotional imprint remains. The gadgets are out of sight, out of mind.

One exception, the motorcycle. I miss it, for sure. It was one thing I was truly passionate about. But I don’t pine for it. I had already made up my mind to give it up, even before the crazy RV scheme. Rounding the corner towards age 60, the eyesight and reflexes aren’t what they used to be. It was the safe thing to do. Besides, in and around Trenton, the whitetail deer are as numerous as squirrels. Never saw so many in one place. Close encounters with motorcycles and deer generally don’t end well, either for the deer or the motorcycle rider.

The rest? I can barely remember them. I do miss the blender. That thing was amazing, I think it could have blended a crowbar. The blenders in my mother’s house are unadulterated garbage. They could barely blend a ripe banana. But it’s not exactly a tragedy. I hardly ever use a blender. I think I dragged one out once in the past 12 months. Mine was a great blender and I got a killer deal on it, but doing without it hasn’t exactly been devastating.

As organization guru Marie Kondo famously recommended—if it doesn’t spark joy, get rid of it. In hindsight, following her advice would have been child’s play. We got rid of tons of stuff that did indeed spark joy. We really had no choice. We decided to move from 3,000 square feet of living space to just 140. Minimalist living is not negotiable.

It’s been interesting. Letting go is a process, not a straight line. We got our stuff down to what would fit in a 10 foot by 12 foot storage unit. Six months later, the storage unit was empty. Most of its contents, gifted. We don’t ask, does this spark joy? We ask, do we really need this? Can we use it on the RV? Will we ever need it again? Most of the time, the answer is no.

Getting rid of almost all your worldly possessions is freeing, in a way. If you don’t own it, you don’t have to worry about it. But I know it will bite me in the ass, eventually. There may come a day I actually need a blender that will grind iron ore. But that day is far, far off. It may never come. Making the commitment to own it, store it and worry about it is simply not worth the investment. There are many fish in the sea and many blenders in the thrift stores.

In all likelihood, I’m eventually going to need something we’ve gotten rid of. And that thing will be safe in a friend’s garage on the East Coast and I’ll be in Dubuque, Iowa, forced to buy another one. I hope it’s not the case, but I’m mentally prepared for it.

I’ll miss my piano. But I’m keeping my harmonicas, they take up way less space and will give me an excuse to keep one foot in the world of music. The accordion? Going. (That’s probably a good thing, for everyone.)

Outside of that, I don’t think I’ll miss many possessions. But I will miss the activities some are associated with. Like brewing and baking, for example. Brewing from an RV isn’t impossible but I know I don’t want to dedicate precious storage space to brew equipment. Plus, we’ll be traveling brewery to brewery, we’ll have plenty of access to good beer.

We’ll miss baking. The RV has no oven. I won’t be baking fresh bread on a weekly basis as I have been for years. Beth will have fewer opportunities to make cookies and brownies. But, when we park in your driveway for a few days, we’ll ask if we can use your oven. That way, we keep our baking skills intact and you get fresh bread and cookies in the bargain. Win-win.

Is it a deal?

TO BE CONTINUED

Want to see the next chapter? Please subscribe. And thanks.

2020 movelossminimalism