"I adore simple pleasures. They are the last refuge of the complex." Oscar Wilde
When we packed up our lives to head up to Cumbria nearly two weeks ago, oxygen choices had to be made, so to speak. We brought both cars as we need to be independent for work, school runs and the like, but with a variety of animals (including two big dogs and a vivarium), four humans and clothes, shoe-wear and sporting equipment for an indeterminate amount of time with us, it was still a tight squeeze. We were forced to be highly selective.
Our tiny two up, two down holiday cottage with one bathroom has become something of an education to us all, and particularly to me. Whilst Husband and I are definitely a team in all things, during this transition period where he is working flat out with his very important, technical and obscure job and my new job has not yet started, I am the domestic engineer of this slick operation. As someone who struggles in this area and has never inhabited the title of Domiciliary Deity with any kind of aptitude or ambition, If I can say on this occasion, I have not only embraced the opportunity, but our small home is both tidy and run like the school A Hockey Team. (They’re really good). Despite the mayhem and unpredictability of our situation I don’t feel as overwhelmed by my environment as I often can do at home. I don’t get flustered and haven’t been feeling swamped by the washing, ironing, washing-up or tidying, despite not having the conveniences of the utilities we take for granted at home like an ironing board that doesn’t collapse when you touch it, and a dishwasher. Four of us are sharing one wardrobe and our one suitcase and four travel bags are stored in the same wardrobe, as well as my work briefcase. This includes clothes for walking, running, leisure, sleeping and school uniform. The variety of shoes and boots we have on board has served us for everything from off road hikes to playing hockey and trips to the theatre; dinner with friends and browsing around the town (translation: small shoe shop). We have an open fireplace, flowers, food, main lights and lamp-light. A bag for all occasions apparently including impromptu sleepovers, boarding, shopping, laundry, bags for bags, even the dog poo variety. We have incredibly inherited two Elves on the Shelf for the first time ever after not only discovering a Christmas Shop, but both my children announcing that they are now old enough not to be too scared to have them in the house. Yes, my children are 11 and 13. But the point I wanted to make was, in both theory and practice, we have everything we need. Including, specifically even, the Elves.
The really jarring part of this revelation is, our house in Suffolk is still full. Our wardrobes, cupboards and drawers are full. If anyone walked into our home there, they would assume it was being lived in. What then does this say about how our needs and more pressingly, our wants are being met and exceeded? To the point that I have been living in a state of semi-permanent irritation with the things I have furnished my own life with.
When we decided to move 300 miles from our life, home and work in Suffolk, we genuinely believed we would move from one house into the next. It did not cross our minds that we would have to transition, invest, gamble, guess, risk and blind hope our way through the process. It has stripped us bare (emotionally, financially and spiritually you’ll be relieved to hear, we are totally into wearing clothes) and given us the space and opportunity to reflect on just about everything that matters to us. How have our past experiences as a family shaped us and led us to where we are, what is it we really want, why are we doing this and where do we want to go? Crucially, the act of living with so much less materially, has led me to search myself and ask what it is I really need?
There are of course embellishments that we would choose to have with us that make life more comfortable, fun, luxurious and unique. There are things that are entirely irreplaceable and to draw on the wisdom of William Morris and Marie Kondo, useful, beautiful and make me feel good. This is what makes life abundant and joyful. But this period of forced detachment from our hoards of “stuff”, in a setting that most people holiday in for three days, has invited me to re-evaluate. What do I want, what do I need and what constitutes the clutter in my cluttered life? Why did the cardboard box that my dogs’ food arrived in this week make me so cross in the middle of the kitchen, that it suddenly took on the persona of an unwelcome guest before I made all kinds of threats directly to it, that it was of course completely unable to comprehend (it’s a box) before casting it out. The food itself however has never been a more welcome sight because I didn’t have to do a 90 minute round trip to buy food that doesn’t poison the German Shepherd. (Broken dog and child in 24 hours. Thank you Westmorland General Hospital and Butternut Box for saving us). The things that matter, as well as the clutter that doesn’t, has been brought into short, sharp focus.
Change focuses the mind. Change we have chosen to embrace that then throws us a million curve balls invites us to change our perspective, if we want to. Look back, look at now and then consider the road ahead with boldness and curiosity.
The conclusion I have come to is that living with less, so much less, is a gift we have been given as part of this process. The next predicament is when and how we return to our Suffolk home for one last, almighty clear out and juggle the trip with increasing work and school commitments.
With further bureaucratic delays and another two weeks added to our month-long rental here in Cumbria, the road ahead still feels very unclear. So taking my own sage advice, I will look back, look at now and then consider the road ahead with…
Wine. And boldness and curiosity. But also wine.
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