Have you given much thought to the hereafter? No, not that hereafter. I’m not talking clouds, wings, and celestial choirs—I mean the other kind. The one where you walk into a room and wonder, “What am I here after?” If that’s happening more often than you’d like to admit, congratulations: you’re officially on the guest list for life’s next awkward rite of passage—downsizing, or at the very least, a good old-fashioned decluttering.
Now, we all imagine we’ll live out our days gracefully aging in our homes, surrounded by cozy memories, a thousand books, and perhaps enough casserole dishes to cater a town hall meeting. But life has a habit of nudging us—sometimes gently, sometimes with a full-on shove—toward a new chapter. A smaller space. A simpler setup. A chance to breathe. But first… the sorting, the shedding, the crying, the reminiscing, and the negotiating with inanimate objects must take place.
Somewhere along the way, a voice in your head starts saying things like, “Will I really use that mountain of recycled gift bags stored on the shelf in the spare room closet?” (I think not.) or “Why am I keeping that bin of tangled charger cords that belong to devices long since extinct?” At first, it whispers. Then it yells—especially when you’re trying to vacuum 3,000 square feet with knees that now creak like haunted floorboards.
I’ve recently been forced to answer that voice. Logically, downsizing makes perfect sense: less space to clean, lower maintenance bills, no more never-ending yard work to do. But emotionally? Oh, that’s a different rodeo. Logic abandons you when you’re holding your child’s baby shoes, or Aunt Margie’s cracked teacup—beloved, unused, and inexplicably sacred.
Still, I’ve come to realize that downsizing is not giving up−it’s levelling up. It’s not defeat—it’s a strategic retreat. Sure, the organizing gurus tell us to keep only what sparks joy, but let’s be honest—we’re in an emotional war zone. We’re not just tossing stuff. We’re deciding which memories come with us, and which ones can live on in someone else’s garage sale pile. We’re trading sprawling square footage and all-day cleaning marathons for something more manageable, more intentional, and—dare I say—more liberating. Downsizing is choosing to curate one’s life instead of being buried beneath it.
There’s something quietly powerful about releasing that weight. About choosing what deserves space in your life—literally and metaphorically. The memories you carry don’t require a storage closet. They live in your stories, your photos, and the occasional “remember when” that pops up over coffee with an old friend.
Yes, letting go is hard. You’ll cry. You’ll second-guess yourself. You may try to justify keeping a box of faded greeting cards from people who have long gone from this world. (No judgment. I’ve been there.)
But you’ll also laugh. You’ll rediscover treasures. You’ll unearth forgotten joys, and maybe even find your long-lost stapler.
And when the last donation box is taped shut, the final “Why did I keep this?” item is tossed, and the dust has settled—literally—you’ll breathe. Not just from your chest, but from your soul. Because you’ve done something brave.
Downsizing is not about having less—it’s about having more. More clarity. More freedom. More room for what really matters. So, here’s to my next chapter. To a smaller space with a bigger heart. To a coffee table not cluttered with unread books. To the junk drawer that finally closes. And to the fondue pot that—let’s be honest—never really stood a chance.
God give me strength… and a good label maker.
