Excavating Artifacts
Overcome space, and all we have left is Here.
Overcome time, and all we have left is Now.
~ Richard Bach, Jonathan Livingston Seagull
In the spring of 2021, I received a call from a gentleman named Henry saying he and his wife were preparing to move and asking if I would be able to help. He informed me they were going to be downsizing and relocating to be closer to their son and were looking for assistance with their packing.
“Thank you for calling, Henry. I would love to help.”
“When is your move happening?”
“The movers are coming in ten days.”
Not quite the response I was hoping for, but I continued.
“How long have you lived in your home?”
He casually responded, “Oh… about twenty-five years. And we have a lot of stuff.”
We promptly made arrangements for a visit to assess their situation.
Henry, and his wife, Millie, had a sizable home. Their three-car garage was chock full and the majority of their belongings hadn’t been accessed in years. Boxes upon boxes upon boxes were scattered amongst decades of forgotten furniture, trunks of whatnots, antique tools and sporting equipment, adorned with an abundance of Christmas lights and a vintage tin dollhouse.
I took a pause.
“Henry, at this point it would be a disservice for me to help you physically pack your belongings. Our time would be best spent by selecting the items you and Millie would like to take with you and in finding homes for the things you no longer need.”
A kind and gentle couple, Henry and Millie were well into their 80s, and, although appearing to be in good health, they were a bit overwhelmed with the tasks that lie ahead. I came to learn there was a lot happening in their world. The months leading up to the move involved a lot of decisions, a great deal of emotion, and a terribly hard goodbye met with some substantial grief.
I cleared my calendar for the next week and began prioritizing. In nine days the movers would arrive. We had minimal time to sort through a well-lived life.
With their permission, I connected with their adult children to make sure they understood the magnitude of the expectations. I made calls to any and all local nonprofits that would come and pick up furniture, clothing, and housewares. We secured a dumpster and hired a hauler.
For two days Millie and I worked inside their home separating trinkets and categorizing donations, selecting what the movers would be packing, and taking stock of the over 500+ beanie babies she had proudly collected.
Once things felt manageable on the inside, Henry and I set our sights on the garage. For three days we worked side by side unearthing vacation booklets and brochures from the ‘80s, tax records from the ‘90s, decades of family photos, books, gadgets, and heirlooms. We sifted and sorted through not only his and Millie’s belongings, but a plethora of his parents’ items as well as his children’s and grandchildren’s things. We uncovered memories that hadn’t seen the light of day in years compelling him to take pause and reflect.
Excavating artifacts Henry hadn’t been with since he was a younger man invoked a sense of nostalgia and sentimentality. Allowing space for those memories and being with those feelings required time. Reminiscence and recollection were no longer confined within the boxes. They had been exposed and set free. They were now wafting all around us.
I observed him tune in to the realization he wouldn’t be needing the majority of his tools as he would no longer be building or constructing. With his mobility and stamina now limited, he wouldn’t be needing his camping equipment or his many hand-carved walking sticks. In saying goodbye to a picnic basket and a vintage Coleman cooler, he was also bidding farewell to future outings, adventures and exploration, as well as a substantial slice of his independence.
Within the four walls of their garage, Henry and I traveled through generations of space and time, and I stood witness to the recitation of long-forgotten stories. I was introduced to who he once was and caught a glimpse of his impending trepidations. I watched him untangle and disconnect from the tangible items that had anchored him to this space. I observed the ebb and flow of his palpable ambivalence to this inevitable next chapter. Though his endurance was admirable, it visibly took its toll.
Decision fatigue is real. Being present with that many memories in a short amount of time is hard. Facing the future while the haulers take our stuff away can feel distressing. Throwing our treasures into a dumpster can be downright heartbreaking.
In a perfectly prepared world, I would have worked with this family over the course of months, if not a year, gradually and mindfully editing and designating items they wished to accompany them into their next chapter while they took leave of their past.
Waiting until we are under the wire with minimal time to sort through our belongings - or our past - is not ideal. Taking control of these decisions while we have the emotional, physical, and spiritual bandwidth is.
We spend the first half of our lives accumulating things we’ve been convinced were necessary.
We spend the second half trying to escape from them.
By surrendering our excess on our own terms, in our own time, and in our own way is extremely powerful and freeing. Waiting until we are coerced or until someone tells us we must can leave us feeling weakened and exposed.
If you have artifacts lying dormant entombed beneath years of dismissal and denial, I invite you to consider exhuming them.
If you have possessions that haven’t been exposed for decades, I encourage you to consider their true value and worth. Anything special or outstanding should not be forgotten in a ramshackle box buried beneath a pile of somedays or what-ifs smothered in dust and disregard.
If you are planning on leaving your unearthed piles of antiquities for your friends and family to excavate upon your departure, I invite you to consider the weight that burden may inflict on their already overstuffed lives.
I invite you to experience the lightness of letting go and the liberty that accompanies not waiting for someday.
After nine days of continuous decision-making, after six truckloads of donations and refuse removal, after two non-profit donation pick-ups, and, after Millie, so generously delivering us our daily old-fashioned donuts, the moving team arrived. The assets that made the cut were packed and loaded for their next destination. Henry and Millie would be venturing away from this juncture of their story and moving toward their next chapter both nostalgic and hopeful. They would be accepting of what once was, and, with less enveloping them, have substantial space for memories yet to come.
Peace and love, Henry and Millie. Peace and love.