First Furniture Goes Out the Door
The first piece of furniture we've sold ahead of our move has just left the house. It was an antique dining table that LL and I picked up in a little antique shop we found during a weekend getaway at a bed and breakfast in Napa. It was made by hand in Mexico in the late 1930's.
Next weekend, our bedroom set will be on its way with a new owner who is taking it back to Orlando. The week after that, our living room furniture goes with HaDe, whom I know from UFS, to her townhouse, not too far from here. Other than that, there are just a few bookcases, a couple of computer desks and chairs, and the entertainment center to deal with, none of which are of great concern. Because of some unexpectedly favorable circumstances, I've decided not to sell off my entire collection of Indian art (just a few pieces) and the hutch on which I display much of it. All of that can be taken apart easily enough to make moving it feasible.
It's strange going through this; the last time I gave up all my stuff was when my ex and I split. I gave her everything but my clothes at that time. That was eleven years ago. Watching all the furniture LL and I have accumulated since then is a good reminder that I shouldn't get too attached to stuff. It is, after all, only stuff. Last time around, I divested myself of all my possessions because keeping it would have entailed too many memories and too much emotional turmoil. This time, it's happening for a good reason; I'm moving again to continue upon a path with a great outcome. I'm bringing with me the two most important things I have in this life: hope and LL.
Still, this time around there are good emotions attached to the stuff. I have photos of the going away party our friends threw for us when we left California in which everyone is gathered around our coffee table. LL and I spent the last 8 years sleeping in that bed. We snuggled through thunderstorms on that couch. I remind myself that the loss of the furniture does nothing to the memory of those things... but there's always that little mystically-thinking voice that wants to believe that things become imbued with some sort of energy, and that's what we're losing. It isn't true, of course; that's all just a relic of the same infantile thought that creates security blankies for toddlers. Nonetheless, I don't deny that it does exist and it makes me feel a little sad.
A trade, then. We couldn't afford to move all this stuff, and in exchange for not moving it, we get to move on ourselves. If we didn't do this, all this stuff would just become an anchor. Soon, we'll have new stuff and new plans and good, positive changes and progress... and always, always one another. This little emotional sacrifice will have big payoffs in the end.
And if I may be excused for giving into that childish voice that wants to believe in the imbuing of inanimate objects with emotional energies for just a moment, I only hope that those energies are imbued upon the people who will now be carting away all this stuff. May those people themselves benefit from all of the happiness and love that has passed into so much wood and fabric over these past years in which they have been in our possession. If that were to be the case, then our selling it will have been a good for more than just ourselves.
Two weeks and two days and then we, too, shall be loaded onto conveyance and on our way to a new home.
