It’s Personal: Downsizing, Etc.
Note: If you’re looking for straight lines and A to Z writing, skip this post.
Downsizing has been on my mind lately. (Truth be told, my mind gets crowded with notions; without Mark Rubin Writes, it might explode!) Anyway, and as I have noted recently, the -0 birthday and the annual reckoning with another year as an attorney—as I write I joined the State Bar of Arizona 36 years ago today, and I started working on October 19, 1981—have brought on a reflective mood.
Closets, as it happens, have brought forth downsizing. I moved on September 14, 2017, the day of my 60th birthday. I’d been planning my move, but it happened on that evening, unexpectedly.
I shared the joy associated with my birthday, including the most wonderful scavenger hunt, in On Turning 60. Alas, I left out a part of the experience. Between downtown and Casa Video—when I dropped Max off at home—I noticed wooden shards. A broken lock. My home office, in disarray. Burgled, I’d been. Missing? Change, as in maybe $20 in rolled and loose coins. And, I discovered a few days later, an almost new $250-ish television. Lucky I was, but I haven’t slept in that house since.
Two more things about my birthday. First, I left this story out of On Turning 60 to insulate my stepdad from worries. Alas, when I arrived for Sunday dinner—I cook for him every Sunday—he said, right after I walked in, “So you had a break-in.” My sister told his daughter, at a Los Angeles wedding shower for my niece-to-be.
And the other? On my 50th birthday, someone tried to steal $62,176 from my law office checking account. I can’t wait for my 70th birthday! (No connection, clearly, between the two events, but if you believe in a pre-determined destiny for each of us, you want to be around on September 14, 2027, too.)
So, back to downsizing. I have about 500 more square feet than I had in my old house. And a pool. And yards. (Less space than I had in the home I lived in for 20+ years, but more than I’ve had for a few years.) I also have two offices, and I’m responsible for Max the dog (who demanded recognition and a photo, even if it’s old.)
Onward. Downsizing. Not so much on space. Actually, none at all. But in my case, two “downsizing” matters come forth, before I get to closets … and what used to be in them. First, I’ve shrunk. Most of my readers, I think, see me regularly, so the changes have been gradual enough to not be noticeable. And while I’m hardly a shell of my former self, I weigh 20+ pounds less than I did at my high point, and between 15 – 20 pounds less than my adult weight.
The other downsizing aspect of my life involves simplicity. Zen and nirvana sound like clichés, but I look back on the frenetic nature of the life I lived and wonder … WTF! (As regular readers know, I dabble in the personal and, like cockroaches who hear the Raid button, I scurry on. Onward, to closets.)
Clothes. Damn. I gave away at least 30 garments a year or so ago. Designer suits, sport coats, slacks, and dress shirts. Too big, or just not what I wanted anymore. But gone!
Then, early this evening, I did another go-through. For giving away—and I will not say how much I still have, because I am embarrassed—I have: (1) A dozen dress shirts in excellent condition, 16 x 35; (2) Several designer suits, 42L, with 36×32 pants, all pleated and mostly cuffed; (3) Five or six sport jackets, 42L; and (4) Lots of Zanella dress slacks, which are 35×32, pleated and cuffed.
These clothes need a good home. I can sell them on eBay. Nope! Or, I can donate them to Goodwill or another charity. (Previously, I gave clothes to the Legal Defender in Tucson, so that when criminal defendants showed up for their trials, they would not be disadvantaged.) Now, though, I want to share my wardrobe with people I know, or people who know people I know. So, if you know any men who wear 16 x 35 shirts, 36-35 x 32 slacks, or 42L jackets, holler at me. (Men, if you fit the definition, contact me directly.) I will ask for an “as you can” donation to a worthy charity, but that won’t get in the way of a transfer.
Thanks for wending your way through my less than direct path to the end, and for your consideration in helping me with my downsizing by ridding me of possessions I don’t want or need.