Most of our stuff is gone. We held a sale where we parted ways with the better portion of our belongings. It was an insane three days. The few days that preceded the sale were quite intense as well. I had been putting off the pricing of our belongings for a few reasons. One reason I had not done prepped much ahead of time is that showings were being scheduled and I wanted the house to look as presentable as possible. The second reason had something to do with the notion that we just did not have all that much to get rid of. Seeing as we were planning on selling everything we owned, we had decided to hold the sale mostly indoors. This seemed like a good idea - we would not need to move the larger furniture and weather would be a non issue. I finally got around to pulling everything out from the closets and drawers on Thursday night before. I made it through the living room before the panic attack came on. Not only was there much to be displayed and priced - there were also memories attached to almost every item that had to be dealt with. We had already parted with about half of our belongings. Apparently that was the crappy half that meant nothing. Why is it that we buy things to remember events? Why can we not just remember them? Every item that I would pick up, I would have an instant flashback to some event. The quality of the event played no real part. A broken plastic cone dragged me back to the time in which our then six month old puppy had to have surgery on his eye to fix an entropian. He wore the cone for two weeks and constantly ran himself into walls until the cone finally fell to bits. The complete set of the Roseanne series DVDs took me back to the days when I was a small child and my family was yet to be broken. We sat in the living room on a brown blanket and watched the show together. Later, my husband bought me the series for Christmas due to my feelings of nostalgia. It was endless. Every item. My emotions ran the gamut. I know in my heart of hearts that all of the stuff does not mean anything in reality. But why does it feel differently? Troy commented as he tackled the garage that he felt certain items represented the man he thought he would become at one time. The football he bought with hopes of taking on a sportier persona for our son. The fishing gear, the hunting stuff, the wood working tools. All good intentions. Some parts took hold and some slipped on by. Stress was high but we soldiered on. Everything got a sticker. Everything had to go.
One thing we had agreed upon is that as of the day of the sale, we would handle ourselves in a completely objective manner in regards to the letting go of our things. There would be no tears. We would tell stories and encourage purchases. We prepped ourselves mentally for this. It turns out that the extra effort was completely unnecessary. The sale was a huge success from moment go. Cars were lined up and people rushed in as soon as the doors swung open. Items were flying off the shelves. Items I had deemed as completely unusable were eyed as treasures. My mind was baffled. I could barely keep up as people tried to leave with their newly acquired notions. Every item that walked out of my life and into someone’s car left me with a new feeling of freedom. The money in my pocket was nice as well, but the knowing that I no longer needed to think about that particular item was an astonishing rush. I wish, just for a small moment, that everyone could experience something similar. It took years and years to accumulate the things that disappeared in mere moments. I must say the sale is also a kind warning against accumulating anything in the future. Watching a necklace go for $5 when just three years before you paid over $100... well that is just sad.
I did manage to also sell a big ticket item... my beloved orange VW beetle convertible. A couple pulled in mere moments before we shut the whole thing down on the very last day. They bought a few small items for their home. A toy helicopter, a shovel, a hammer. They talked us down from $2 to $1 on the hammer. They then bought my car for exactly what I was asking. It was surreal.
There are still things to shed ourselves of at the house - and of course, we have the house itself. Progress however is being made.