see me, feel me

While sorting out my bedroom closet, I had to lie down right there on the floor amongst heaps of shoes, bags, belts, and clothing to regain my equilibrium. My brain hurt calculating the fate of each item. That, in addition to the energy from them, reverberated off the walls and completely knocked me out.

In the past few months, I have physically handled absolutely everything it took my entire life—and Robert’s—to acquire. I never realized there was so much. I worked with Robert’s movers to get his things to his new apartment, my movers to get my things into storage, and will have another round of movers pack and ship furniture and boxes going to the girls’ house in California.

For weeks I had folding tables set up in the living room for a house sale. I kissed goodbye many of my favorite pieces, not quite believing that I was really selling them. The “good stuff” that I didn’t keep or sell has been packed up to go to a resale store.   Most of my closet went to friends, consignment, auction, or donation, but there’s still a vast amount to be organized. The quantity of everything along with the varied dispersal of it, has me exhausted.

It’s not like I’ve never moved before, not like I’ve never split up a household before. Sure, the last time was twenty years ago, but it can’t just be because I’ve never been this old before.

Why is it so different this time?

When Robert and I moved into this apartment, we were moving out of two homes. Over 7000 square feet of belongings between us needed to be reduced into 2000 square feet of space. Once I completed furniture layouts, what we needed became obvious, but what we wanted was not. So we made a deal. If he hated anything of mine or I hated anything of his, we would discard it–no hard feelings–and replace it with a new item that we both liked.

The pieces that didn’t make the cut quietly left. Some went to furniture heaven, while others lived on at my office. Italian contemporary kitchen chairs gained new life at a small conference table in the sources library and tribal tapestries added character to the walls in my reception area.

Choices were easy—clear–and I really didn’t miss anything that had gone away, especially not the furniture and art that I saw at work everyday.

As for the clothing, collectibles, and housewares–we brought it all. They were essential to living the way we were and wanted to continue. Stylish, elegant, sophisticated…

The puzzle pieces fit.

Fit the floor plan, fit the location, fit the purpose, fit the lifestyle, and fit who I was–whom I’d been my whole adult life. I knew what it looked like to be her. I knew what she needed to complete that picture. This girl, the one lying on the floor of her closet, hasn’t really existed before–and that’s what’s making my brain freeze.

I don’t know what she looks like yet or what her needs are. I can’t conjure her up in my minds eye to see what her future requires. I don’t even know what the pieces are–let alone where they fit. What does she do everyday, where does she go? What does she like to wear, how does she entertain? Where does she live? It all remains to be seen.

For a visual person with a highly developed sense of knowing what’s going to look just right, this is unnerving.

I’m going to have to feel my way through.

I’ve always enjoyed the discovery of beautiful new things, but I realize now that I don’t have to own all of them. I am acutely aware that as activities diminish and possessions are dispersed, my senses are heightened and exposed. Sometimes I’m sad, other times overjoyed, but I’m always certain that what I’m doing is the right thing to do right now. Will I find myself somewhere underneath the piles of belongings? Have I been playing hide and seek with my feelings and emotions my whole life? Maybe.

The first floor is just about empty.

Danielle came in to help as did quite a few friends. They packed, or purchased, or provided moral support–all of which I am so grateful for.  The power of a friendly face or voice can move mountains, or in this case–a helluva lot of stuff!

Traces of packing paper and a few boxes waiting to go into storage are all that remain downstairs. Both the painter and floor finisher have been scheduled to touch up the imperfections visible now that furniture and art have been removed. The pieces shipping to California have been temporarily relocated to carpeted areas upstairs and will leave in a couple weeks. It feels weird. Not like home at all.

Which, I guess, is the point. In a few weeks my home will be neutralized–ready to belong to somebody else. The few items that remain in the bedroom and bathroom so I can work, sleep, and get dressed will have little impact on the personality of the apartment. What made it mine…ours…is gone with the wind–and the moving vans.

Despite all the mechanics, I welcome the new insights and intense feelings that emerge.   Even the chaos is illuminating.  I hope it shines brightly upon what’s next.

######