the good, the bad, and the ugly

After four years of some pretty serious downsizing, we are beginning to wrap it up. This phase, at least.

Two and a half years ago we moved from the big house that we had built and lived in for 40 years into a tiny dry cabin. We had already disposed of many of our possessions that we had accumulated over those 40 years. We moved the rest of them into outbuildings on the property where we would continue the process of sorting and pitching. We are finally nearing the end of that first major purge by selling the property and moving that stuff into a 10' x 20' storage unit.

Over and over again we are reminded that this is the right choice. To get free. To live more simply. To be mobile and portable. We love the choice. We love the freedom. We celebrate the sale of the property that gives us that freedom. We are excited. We rejoice about how it is all coming together.

But...

There are hard moments, too. There is a price to this freedom. The cost is high. There are losses to grieve. The losses that are the hardest come back around from time to time. I have written about some of them and will likely write about them again. Some days I can talk about them and write about them; other days the words won't come - or they get stuck in my throat. In fact, I may have already written much of what I'm saying here; I can't always keep it straight. And it really feels like I'm not saying it well.

There are losses and there are gains. That's the way life works.

So here's what I've decided to do. I think it is wise to pay attention. To notice both, the good and the bad. To embrace the positive and the negative. The exciting along with the difficult. The heart-warming along with the heart-wrenching. Rather than ignore or repress these thoughts and feelings, I want to notice them. To pause and appreciate them. To ponder and to process. To feel them and to think about them.

I do not want to ignore or repress them. I think it would be a shame to get down the road a couple years and suddenly realize that I hadn't taken the time to grieve the losses - or to cherish a thing of beauty while it was mine to behold. That might be the ugly part - to not really live in the present moment. To let the crazy last-minute busyness rob me of experiencing fully the joys and the sorrows, the excitement and the pain.

Another ugly part might be to ignore something that could be learned from this whole process. My dear dad always said, "Let that be a lesson to you." I hope that I am not missing the lessons of these moments and days.

Sure enough, I don't think I'm saying it well. But somehow as I learn to embrace the good along with the bad, I hope to avoid the ugliness of taking things for granted or of griping and complaining.