On Letting Go

It’s my last official day of W.O.R.K tomorrow. The last day, in my foreseeable future, that I will trek to the office to do a J.O.B.

I don’t think I’ll miss it, but I worry a little that I will. I think it’s about defining success; learning what that looks like in a new light when all the past success parameters don’t measure up any longer. I’ll have to develop a new scale…or…just stop trying to measure up.

What’s really been interesting the past few weeks is getting rid of all our stuff.

We started Kijiji-ing like mad as soon as we decided to leave and things have  been selling pretty well. We’re down to sleeping on the sofa bed in the living room with a filing cabinet as a coffee table/night stand/dining table. It’s almost like camping – only I’m warm.

As we go through things, deciding on the few items to keep and where to send the rest, a few patterns have emerged that re-enforce the underlying force behind all of this; things don’t matter, it’s the experiences that matter.

All the furniture, serving sets, wine glasses and things we purchased when we bought our first home were the absolute easiest to get rid of.

I didn’t blink an eye as the cabinets we so carefully chose walked out the door. The bedroom set I so coveted so I could be a ‘grown up’? Bye-bye.

That beautiful, perfect, dining room table I spent a fortune on is now mocking me in the corner as I am unable to sell it for even a fraction of what I paid for it. I had a niggling feeling when I bought it, obsessed over not scratching or marring it whenever we used it, and now it is making me pay. Making me learn the lesson that spending great amounts of money for something is not the way to happiness.

The pieces I struggle with letting go?

The first piece of furniture I ever bought once I graduated school; it reminds me of swelling with pride that I could afford something comfortable to sit in.

The candle stick wall sconce that Jason brought to my teeny tiny apartment when he moved in – we still try to dine by candle light as often as possible.

My bike. So many memories of so many years churning up trails with the Fat Bastards.

A cheap, French-inspired, poster bought from a hole-in-the-wall shop after a few beers on a rainy, fall afternoon many years ago. It was my first piece of ‘art’ and started a motley collection of which each piece reminds me of a time and place.

The things I am most connected to are those that remind me of times and experiences that are most important to me. I look back fondly on the early days of my relationship with Jason. We lived in a teeny tiny apartment, enjoyed ourselves immensely, and didn’t have many things. The things we are most easily getting rid of now remind me of following blindly down a path without checking in with myself.

It’s about looking back, letting go, and moving forward. Easier said than done. But. Done.