Moving On

My father-in-law, Jim, was determined to move from his home of 58 years in the suburbs of Boston, where he and his wife raised their children, ran for public office, and befriended several generations of neighbors. We encouraged him to find a nice senior community where he didn’t need to worry about fixing a leaky roof or plowing a snowy driveway. Instead, he decided he would live full-time in his home in Stoddard, New Hampshire, on 28 acres of land that sits a ways down a dirt road and up a steep dirt drive. “I just love sitting on the porch and enjoying the quiet of the mornings,” he’d say when we pressed him about why he needed to do this now.

Jim’s landing place may be atypical for an 88-year-old, recently widowed man, but the move itself followed a universal arc. A twenty-something moving out of his parents’ house to seek new adventures will experience the same roller-coaster of emotions as a thirty-something fleeing their city apartment for a converted cape with a backyard and a swingset. The phases of moving are as predictable as the stages of grief.

Stage one, Denial, brings a manic energy, visions of organization and efficiency, and a chance to purge years of baggage. We are seduced by the promise of detachment from the excess of possessions. The days of cluttered cabinets and closets are in the past.

Stage two, Anger, finds us utterly overwhelmed. I can’t possibly get all of this done! I have too much stuff! I need all this stuff! I love all of this stuff! I can’t stand this stuff! During this phase, you fantasize about how you might be relieved of your burden. Maybe I’ll get robbed tonight. Someone will sneak in and take half of my stuff (I don’t care which half).

Stage three, Bargaining, is still pretty much bargaining. You make deals just to keep the process going. OK, I will pack up this pile of photo albums/old tax returns/kitchen towels because I don’t have time to go through them all right now. But, you promise, I won’t unpack them without throwing half of them away (maybe even two-thirds).

Stage four, Depression (or at least a healthy dose of Avoidance). What the hell do I do with all the stuff I just moved? I should tackle that box with my old yearbooks and my children’s school pictures, but not today.

And finally, Acceptance, which is really the start of the next cycle - denial in a different outfit. Those boxes aren’t hurting anyone. Let’s just put a label on them and tuck them away. There are some real gems in there. And then the biggest lie of all: the kids would really get a kick out of these. I’ll wait and go through these with them, and then we’ll throw them away together. Some of you are those “kids,” and I can hear your collective cries.

But this is life: energy and fatigue, determination and discouragement, attachment and loss.

In spite of our gentle encouragement to take some more time or consider other options, Jim made the move. Over the past several months, he assembled and directed a mighty team to execute his transition. In the coming months, he will cycle through all sorts of stages that come with life-changing events. Who knows what will become of all of the boxes that made the journey to Stoddard. At some point, his kids may end up taking up the job. But I spoke with him this morning and asked how he was doing. He said he was loving sitting on his porch and enjoying the quiet morning.