In case you were wondering.

It’s never too soon or too late to take care of your shit.

Now is the time. 

Some context..

Grandma agreed to downsize! 

Mavis is a spunky and sharp lady with nine decades of experience doing things her way.

But even she was done with three-story-one-acre-solo living at 92.

For a year I’ve watched my dad and mom clear out Grandma’s house. 

The selling and moving process has been horrendous.

One does tend to collect a few things in a lifetime. 

Every inch of space was lovingly filled after 30 years in the home.

The ordeal was (continues to be) a wake up call.

I’ll be sorting my shit out now. At age 50. 

And I won’t be alone. Turns out this is a bit of a phenomenon for mid-century moms.

Minimalism. Swedish Death Cleaning. KonMari.

It’s all one big rally cry to take responsibility for our shit.  

And that shit needs a new home. Not a landfill. 

The burden of our acquisitions is not for the planet or our kids’ to carry. 

And the big purge is a bit overwhelming.

I started with a simple checklist of what I don’t use, want, or need anymore.

It was embarrassingly long.

Transformers, a rocking chair, a horse trough (I have never and never will own a horse). A foosball table, microwave, cork board, and a wine cooler. The list goes on and on and on.

Then I broke the list down. 

Donate. Gift. Sell. Dump.

I shared my list. The husband added shit from “the shop”.

Making the list was such a motivator. I wanted to check off those boxes.

I enlisted the help of Ebay, Craigslist, Marketplace, Buy Nothing, and Goodwill.

The shit pile expands and retracts but overall gets smaller and smaller.

Pokémon go all over the country with Ebay.

Rusted tables go to a handy neighbor with Buy Nothing.  

Grandma’s gold mirror? Gifted to a great grandson.

The 20-somethings love the vintage, the thrifted, the well-made shit that lasts.

“Adopt don’t shop” applies to both pets and four-legged tables.

Let someone rescue those chairs and light fixtures! 

I am learning to let go of a trained and ingrained need for new.

I was taught that second hand items were “less than.”

Certainly never suitable gifts.

Now I see these “experienced” treasures as gifts with a story.

I am not perfect. I still succumb to well-placed ads. I feel the buyer’s remorse.

Not everything in my home sparks joy.

And even some of the shit we love wears out, breaks, or truly has no value to anyone anymore.

Grandma’s vintage floral sofa? 

I was convinced I could find a match. A happily-ever-after.

But, alas, there is no dating app for davenports.

She was past her prime or I just needed more time.

I’m afraid that couch will forever haunt me from the landfill.

I don’t want more Doris-the-Dumped Davenports in my future. 

So I’m working on this shit now. 

As Vivienne Westwood famously said,

Buy less. Choose well. Make it last.

I’ll add a final step, “Pay it forward.”