An early morning walk after a brief, but heavy rain last night is a reflective time. My thoughts drifted years back some twelve years. It was the new millenium. My children were spreading their collective wings. After our family home was sold my son returned to the city a few hundred miles south. Eventually he settled on the area where he was born. We have some extended family there. Jobs are abundant there.
Moving into the city after college means you don't take much with you. His father was supposed to shelter his belongings after our marriage completed. I remember telling his Dad to be sure to hang on to all of our son's collections. Especially the Darth Vader collection kit. He would want that in years to come.
Saying that didn't happen is an understatement. His Dad tossed everything. But this post isn't about that. It is about new beginnings.
When I visited my son in a townhouse he was sharing with three others, I had lots of concerns. Crime was the first. I was assured he was a man of the world and was cautious. I still worried. I also wanted to ensure he was living in a comfortable place. A place he could call home.
Upon entering the hundred year old structure,arched doorways and curved wall reminded me of an earlier time. Craftsmanship. His new home was neat and clean, his signature marks. Spartan mostly.
Climbing the oak stairs to his bedroom on the second floor,he showed me his room down the long hall. A mattress was on the floor. Directly on the floor. No frame. The floor. A lamp was next to it. On the floor. Turning around, it became instantly clear this was to be an open look. No dresser. Nada. He had a double dresser in our family home. I had a triple dresser.
But Mom's need to look into closets. Why? It is a sickness no doubt. Closets tell the real story. It also tells you if they have enough clothes. So I opened the closet.
Inside the closet was a two foot plastic looking dresser. On the floor. It kept his things clean and organized. But Mom was bothered. How could he not have a dresser? Further questioning lead to the fact he didn't need one. But Mom's heart still sunk. How could my son not have a dresser? It didn't feel like home to me. It did to him. Or so he said.
Years later, I think about the dresser. I think about my thoughts about what was necessary back then. All the things that just weren't necessary. They aren't necessary now. Our lives have some parallels. His life is a full one. He called it in. Married to a wonderful woman. An adorable son. More on the way for sure.
After he was settled, I moved five hundred miles south of him. I had released many of the things I had in my former life. Including the triple dresser. Simplicity. That's the ticket. After enjoying years in the mountains my life was ready for more streamlining. This time the move would take me one thousand miles north, easier access to visit my son, closer to his sister. An easier lifestyle.
Just before I moved, I asked a friend if he wanted my dresser. I was reducing again. My space in my new home was half the space I had in the other house. Limited storage. Stuff didn't matter in the life I was creating. I didn't plan to spend a lot of time inside. The funny thing was that the dresser didn't fit in the life my friend was creating. He is a minimalist. He just doesn't have room for it. He graciously declined.
The small dresser now stands in my bedroom in my new place. A third of the size of the one I had in my former life. It's relatively empty. But my life is now two thirds larger.
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