Do I Really Need All This Crap?

Only one in five people are able to do this in the morning.

I’ll have your answer coming up.

Since my stepdaughter moved out, there’s been a lot of talk in our house about downsizing. We’ve even gone so far as to look at houses, sort of testing the waters to see if anything gives us the feels.

Then, because of water damage from a leak, we had no choice but to actually move out for a week. With a suitcase each and our cat, Niles the Weirdo, we moved into a hotel. Everything on our main floor was moved to storage while the wood floors, which cover that entire level, were repaired, sanded, stained, and buffed.

Both scenarios—downsizing or simply being evacuated for a week—work on your brain. Specifically, the part of your brain that glances around your house and says: “Do I really need all this crap?”

If you’re like me, you have no trouble talking the talk. It’s actually unloading things that creates real friction. I don’t know if it’s sentimentality or just fear of “needing it later” that makes this so damned hard.

I do know that moving back into the house, with everything sparkly and new—the repairs even made the whole place smell like a new house—inspires you to finally start jettisoning things.

That enthusiasm lasted all of one day.

My grudging realization is that it will actually take pulling the trigger on a home half the size of my current space to finally force me into making those tough calls. Having nowhere to put things is a powerful driving force.

While I struggle with the decision, three things are for sure:

1) I’ve put new protective pads on the bottom of every chair leg in order to protect those ridiculously expensive wood floors.

2) I’ve at least begun a preemptive mental checklist of things that can go.

3) And living with a freaked-out cat in a hotel room for a week is not something I want to ever do again.

What are only one in five people able to do in the morning?

Wake up on time with no alarm clock.

The remaining 80% negotiate with their alarm like it’s a hostage situation.

I set my head for a quarter to seven and . . . I get up.