How I became a minimalist. (Part 2/2)

We move a lot. I can’t use a past tense in that sentence, because every time we move, we say to ourselves that this would be for good when in fact, all of our apartments lasted less than two years. Whether it is voluntary or involuntary, moving is always such a rush — and thank god if it doesn’t turn into full-blown mayhem. I came to accept the fact that you can’t not rush when you move — how can you? You don’t want to pay two rents, it’s twice as expensive to hire movers across two days instead of getting everything out (or in) in one day, and no one loves the sight of brown boxes stacked up to the ceiling.

So instead of taking the time to make sure we do everything right, we optimize for efficiency. We don’t think through what is the best way to pack things up, nor do we waste time marking boxes ‘bedroom’ and ‘living room’ because at the end of the day everything gets mixed up. Our trick is to get a lot of oversized boxes and just throw things in like robots. Actually, if you travel for work frequently or constantly, this works for packing, too. The best packing advice I got — the only one that really saves time — during my time as a traveling consultant was to ‘get bigger luggage and just throw everything in there.’

We moved from northern California to Brooklyn at the end of August. Knowing full well that I am extremely ineffective in managing movers, Michele suggested that I take Lola out for the day while he receives movers and getting the stuff upstairs. While Lola insisted on going on the Merry-Go-Around for the third time, I got a text message from Michele.

Him: I am sending some boxes back.

Me: What?

Him: There is no space. I have to send them back.

I Immediately sensed how overwhelmed he is by everything that’s arriving in the afternoon. Not knowing what’s in those six boxes (because as I said, we never mark them), I said ok, he can get rid of them. To this day, a solid three months and a half later, we still don’t know what items were in those boxes. And obviously, we do not miss them.

When Lola and I came home after the move is finally over, the scene almost took my breath away — and not in a good way. Stepping into the apartment made me feel like I was slowly drowning into the infinite maze of brown moving boxes. We thought we shed a lot of things in California, but what used to fit in a detached two bedroom house with storage and carport, did not fit in the two bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. We might as well have rented another two bedroom apartment if we wanted to live with everything we brought.

Not my boxes, but it wasn’t far off.

What did we even bring? All of Lola’s baby toys and gift. A crib that Lola has grown out of. Two couches. Boxes and boxes of things that we’ve accumulated that were once useful, but no longer needed. Frustrated, I directed my anger to something that is completely irrelevant when I blurted ‘we are never buying anything from Amazon ever again’ (Jeff Besos would be happy to know that I never kept to these words).

Something radical, ruthless, and drastic needed to be done. We needed to get rid of at least 60% of our things, and fast. I rolled my sleeves and got to work. Here are some major items that we let go.

• - Lola’s clothing and toys, except the ones that had a deep sentimental value
• - Half of my wardrobe (Anything between size 0 to 4 have got to go)
• - So many pairs of shoes (guess what, your feet get fat, too!)
• - Linens, linens, and more linens. And pillows
• - Books that don’t interest us anymore, which were most of them
• - Class notes from 5 years ago
• - Bits and pieces of nails and brackets that we no longer knew where they fit
• - A sectional couch that we bought for an undisclosable amount (think 4+ dollar sign), custom-made, extra deep with a pull out bed, that our cats practically destroyed within three months, and had to go to the landfill
• - Cats. (Just kidding. We had to keep them because no one wanted them.)

The total cost of letting go of all these things was close $2,000. This includes junk removal service (twice), parking ticket I got when I drove to the Salvation Army, tolls and gas spent to make many, many trips to donation centers*, minus ~$100 voucher I received at the local consignment store (Thank you, Eleven Consignment Boutique!).

Retrospectively, if we had gotten rid of all these things in California and drove to New York ourselves with a U-Haul container, we could have easily saved $5,000 — including the cost of cross country moving and all the nights we had to spend in a hotel.

But here’s the thing: after everything is said and done, as wasteful as it was, I felt GREAT. I felt a sense of relief. I was elated but grounded, hopeful for the potential of the space we call home — because there was a ton of it in our small-ish apartment. The moment of embracing minimalism was just then. To experience what space can do for my sanity. To believe that all this space doesn’t have to be filled with things. To know every single thing I own in my house and exactly where they are. And to jump and dance around with Lola without worrying about bumping or tripping over anything (to my downstairs neighbor’s dismay).

*I highly recommend ‘Room to Grow’ if you are donating children’s clothing and toys in New York.