Still sizing up the move

We moved house earlier this year. The day the removal vans pulled up in front of the new place it was literally only the second time I had seen it. You’re thinking He’s an idiot! and I’d struggle to challenge that, but when a place is right it’s right, at least that’s what I told myself. Anyway, the one rule of buying a property… expect surprises, and hope they’re not all bad!

Perhaps I’m overplaying the casual nature of this transaction and everything that followed. I am really only able to get away with this cavalier attitude to such a life-changing purchase because my wife has ample and enviable supplies of energy and optimism for making it work. Appointments at the bank, endless exchanges with notaries (quixotic legal birds needed to ‘mediate’ such contracts), arrangements with removal companies, certifications for electricity, the environment and God knows what else… she whips it all into shape.

What’s my use then? Moving stuff. Packing things. Cleaning things. Fixing stuff. Keeping the kids and dog out of the way. I’m good at the grunt work. And with age I can even pace myself enough to avoid breaking too many things! Plus, it’s not our first rodeo. We’ve moved three times as a family, and a few more as a Dinky couple. Of course, for every move the logistics has become more complex and not just in the pure volume of stuff being dragged around. We went from renting a couple of places and shifting ourselves by camel to our first two-bed apartment downtown using a borrowed van. From there, we moved to a three-bed terrace house in a village and filled a large van, then to a four-bed villa in leafier parts with a small truck, and onto a bigger, even leafier joint back in the city with an unfeasibly full trailer truck.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not totally lamenting the accumulation of things as I may have perhaps in the past. There are certain comforts one is allowed or even expected to acquire by middle age, as a form of ballast for the things we shed over time, including our ideals! But deep down I do feel a sense of burden every time a new Ikea delivery is unpacked. With ambivalence, I assemble the new bookshelf, flat-screen TV table, outdoor furniture… you name it. I tilt my head and admire my handywork, but am I elated or fulfilled by this new addition?

"It does make the room!" My wife or a visitor will offer, and I’ll nod agreement, but then feel compelled to just tidy away any memory of how we reached this point of domestic scrutiny. Box crushed and deposited ready for recycling. Bubble wrap given to the kids to pop. Screws and leftover bits and bobs from the build thrown into the ‘don’t know what it does’ plastic box. Its reflexive behaviour.

Not a maverick, apparently

I’d never expect to be a called a maverick when it comes to such feelings about accumulation, about modern society, about pervasive electronic devices, about being unitary (in a good way), but I recently watched a Netflix documentary about minimalism and several other series featuring tiny houses and downsizing and it made me realise just how many people out there are having similar thoughts. It’s not all about carbon footprints, conscious consumerism, waste mountains and health concerns… important as they are. It is something more primal. A sense that a life surrounded by ‘comfort’ things – and here after many a month cooped up in Covid-19 bubbles I must include family and friends – needs moderation. Yin and yang, perhaps. Black and white. Social and solitary. Full and empty. Contrasting spaces and moments that fuel reflection, perhaps reminding of us what matters, ultimately.

Stupid as it sounds, the surprises you expect when you move to a new house – dodgy plumbing, mystery keys, cracked tiles, undelivered mail, unpacked boxes – have all been reassuringly present. A charming sense of inevitability which speaks to the True test of optimism and will. But it’s the surprises you don’t expect that deliver the greatest lessons. Understanding the needs of others. Time saved on daily commutes. Selling a car and buying and e-bike. A remote-controlled garage in a downpour. A second-hand drum kit. Slip-sliding in the garden. A mancave with a couch and fridge to watch footy. Discovering that space can be as big and small as you make it. Things are choices and they’re not all bad! Sometimes you just have to settle into them.