Emptying out your life
We are getting rid of everything:
Fitting all your belongings in a 6-meter camper is not easy. Finding out you are emotionally attached to pencils is also not easy.
When we put the house up for sale my dad generously offered us the option to move in with him. We politely declined because it’s a huge invasion on his life and, even if it is only for four months, we find it a lot to ask of someone. Renting a small flat makes waaay more sense…
So, per 1 December we will be moving in with dad. As it turned out, our house sold quickly because renting a space anywhere liveable is currently insanely expensive—relatively speaking of course. The decision of where to live started to become predominantly more complicated, so we drove to dad’s with a list of reasons that make us (including dogs) amazing housemates. He agreed, and we are now in the process of emptying his attic of my brother’s stuff (who will be picking it up this Christmas) only to fill it with our own.
I have moved back in with my parents three times in the past. In my defence, each time was just for a few months to get myself sorted, and once was me living in a caravan on their drive and only going in to the house for dinner and showering, so that doesn’t count, right? My brother came back a total of three times as well, basically for the same reasons as I did, minus the caravan living. Our parents are insanely tolerable of our plans and life decisions so even when a little fridge magnet with the quote “I childproofed the house, but they are still getting in” appeared ten years ago, we have always known that we will never have to worry about ending up under a bridge. Still, if even I find the four of us a lot to deal with sometimes, I do wonder if my dad realises what he has agreed to and I cannot thank him enough. On the plus side, he might not be too upset when he waves us off in March.
Emptying your house to live in a camper is, in my experience, astonishingly satisfying. Yes, there are some things I refuse to get rid of, I get emotionally attached to furniture for example, and I strongly believe you need a different pair of shoes for every activity in life, but spending the past ten years living with someone who is not materialistic at all and cannot stand my hoarding has prepared me for this moment in life. I am getting rid of everything. Everything except my printed photos (yes, I am from such a generation), the two saxophones I inherited from my mother, and some odds and ends that mean more to me than any inanimate object should, but which even Jasper finds acceptable to put in storage. Jasper himself has a box. One box. One little box he has asked to put in my father’s attic. One shoebox sitting next to my pile of stuff…
For peeps who want more information on how we dealt with getting rid of all our stuff, click here.