Downzing's Delights and Discontents
In 2009, 90-year-old Lonnie Holloway was buried in the front seat of his 1973 Pontiac Catalina. He loved his car and a large crowd gathered for the internment. “This day will be burned in our memories for years and years to come,” the presiding pastor intoned. Despite Lonnie orchestrating his “last rights” to be buried with his prized possession, most of us follow the dictum that “you can’t take it with you.” The time-honored quip should be adjusted: “The only sure things in life are death, taxes and downsizing.”
By 2030 one in five Americans will be over 65. That’s a whopping 71.6 million people. Most of them in time will desire or face the need to downsize. Typically, it will be associated with moving to a smaller home/apartment or some level of senior care. That’s when they’ll face getting rid of lots of stuff acquired over the years. Some, because of preference or lack of options, will choose to “age in place,” but many of them may also want to downsize or at some point may need help doing so.
The thought of downsizing and the work involved is viewed by many with the same anticipation as getting a root canal. But it can be a positive experience, despite some if its discontents.
One plus is the ability to control your downsizing. We’ve wanted to choose how this happens, what we keep and part with, rather than having someone else take over for us. We’re also comforted by knowing that the more we downsize now, the less work, time and expense there will be later, especially for our children when the time comes. Since much of what we give up will be used by someone else we have the satisfaction of knowing others will benefit from what we were fortunate to have enjoyed for many years. While we’re selling some things, we’re giving a lot to charitable organizations like Habitat for Humanity, Goodwill and the SPCA, knowing people in need will benefit.
Downsizing, of course, has downsides. When an auction house recently hauled away the nineteenth century pie safe that served as my clothes dresser for thirty years, there was a tiny ache in my heart. Yet looking for the positive amidst such “loss” can help. There’s now an open space in our bedroom, which makes it look less crowded. This is the advantage of downsizing’s cousin, called “de-cluttering.”
Mourning the loss of things seems silly, I know. Behavioral economists explain this by referring to the “endowment effect.” In short, much of what we possess (physically or psychologically) we have endowed with emotional value, so losing it can come with an emotional cost. That’s why when you decide to sell where you live, a potential buyer views it as a house, offering perhaps less you think your home is worth. Your home, tied up with all your joyful experiences and improvements in it, can have little or no meaning yet for that prospective buyer.
Strange as it may sound, I’ve developed a ‘relationship’ with our most prized possessions (even admitting that I gave my wife a hard time years ago about spending money to buy them). That dovetailed, old blue-painted candle box that left for auction exemplifies this. I remember the day we purchased it in a shop in Searsport, Maine. I recall the look on the face of its owner who made us promise we would not strip off the paint made with blueberries and buttermilk. Not nearly as intense or important of course as human relationships, we bond to some things nonetheless. Lonnie Holloway certainly did.
Downsizing can set a trap for us too: the tendency to rent a large storage unit for all those things we just don’t want to give up (but don’t really have a place for, need or have anyone to give them to). My mother was the poster child for this. When she left her home to move into a small apartment, she filled two storage bins with things she couldn’t bear to part with (as a child of the Great Depression, you didn’t just toss things you paid good money for.). For the next 25 years she never took anything out of those bins (and our suspicion is that she never looked in them either). She failed downsizing 1.0. So when we helped her move as she aged we helped her through downsizing 2.0.
Downsizing can be a gift to others. Had the owner of our 1840s step-back cupboard, complete with mouse holes, tossed it, we’d never have become its proud owners. When we let it go, we’ll be bestowing it on someone else. The Fisher-Price house that our grandchildren played with when they visited has already gone on to its new life with our great grandchildren in their home. In a culture where “new” is often over-valued, good downsizing honors the past and can help fashion someone else’s future.
There’s one kind of “downsizing” I can’t control: I’m getting shorter as I age. The other kind of downsizing is something I can hope to master.
Photo Credit: Atherton Lifecare Community
