Downsizing

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Sitting in my room at the nursing home, I realise that everything I own is now contained within these four walls. It's a strange thought, really. If I had to pack it all up, it would easily fit into two large suitcases. The few clothes I have left, the handful of books, and some personal items—all of it could be packed away in a matter of hours.

It wasn’t always like this. Not so long ago, I had a large house. A sprawling property with rooms I rarely used, and a garden that seemed to stretch on forever. There were two cars parked in the driveway, each serving its purpose, although one often just sat there, gathering dust. Then, there was the small yacht moored on Sydney Harbour. It was more of a status symbol than anything else, really. I liked the idea of owning a yacht, even if I only sailed it a handful of times each year.

The garage was another story altogether. It was stacked high with unlabelled cartons, each one filled with things I thought I might need someday. Tools I never used, old furniture that had been replaced but not discarded, and boxes of memorabilia from years gone by. It was all just sitting there, taking up space. I even had to rent a storage facility nearby to house the overflow. The things I couldn’t fit in the garage but couldn’t bear to part with.

And now, all of that is gone. The house, the cars, the yacht, the garage full of stuff—all of it has been sold, given away, or simply left behind. I’m left with the essentials, the bare minimum. It’s a strange feeling, knowing that everything I once valued so highly has been reduced to what could be carried in a couple of suitcases. But this is my reality now, and I suppose there’s a kind of simplicity in that.