Outgrowth

It’s uncomfortable when something no longer fits. Clothes. Relationships. Attitudes. Addresses.

I’ve been in my teeny tiny place for ten years now. So much longer than I ever thought I’d be, but it’s served a wonderful purpose. Downsizing gave me a chance to restructure my finances and my life. Living with limits teaches you a lot. I’m forever grateful for that. Becoming an expert in toe-stubbing, not so much.

Nothing will show you how much you or your life has changed than 225 sq. ft. (told you it was teeny tiny). When I first moved in, and probably for the first three years, I was so good at the minimalism that small living more or less demands. For the most part, friends listened when I said, “Don’t get me anything. I mean it. I can’t squeeze a candle in here without the place looking shambolic.” I explained that, if they insisted on gifting me something, it could only be booze, cash or iTunes; something consumable (and, really, those are the best gifts). Even with that strict rule, you live your life and things follow you home.

As a writer, I went to many author events. Books are usually involved with those, so stacks of them sit on the once-clear bottom shelf of my coffee table (the rest are in my storage unit). The pandemic turned us all into some version of a hoarder. I’m still buying things in twos or threes. What few cupboards I have are to-the-gills. My joy of cooking blossomed, requiring more tools and gadgets than my itty-bitty galley kitchen can hold.

Working in an office in a professional building (for the first time in decades) required a different sort of wardrobe than I’d normally indulge in, so my closet is about to barf. In an effort to exercise in the evenings, I invested in a WaterRower that takes up the whole of my living area when in use. But, if I was going to sit on my ass and watch TV when I got home, might as well be working up a sweat while doing it, right?

While my place isn’t exactly cramped, it’s become more cluttered than I’d like. There isn’t a place for everything anymore (who thought we’d need space for N-95 masks and COVID tests?). There’s been a decade of life here, and trinkets from friends. Working out at home (yoga, kettlebells) because I want to remain a NOVID. I bring my office in on Fridays when we all work from home; that required an actual office phone with multiple lines to reside here. If I was worried about fitting in a candle…LOL. Shambles!

Clearly, my life has outgrown my home. In some ways, that’s a great thing! But it isn’t always pleasant. And, unfortunately, my wallet has no desire to invest in a bigger space just yet. Despite what Mick sang, sometimes, you can’t get what you need, either.

And, so what?

It’s not easy trying to feel comfortable in a place or circumstance you don’t fit in anymore, but there are a few things to remember:

It’s not permanent.
This, too, shall pass/change/fall away when the time is right.

Not taking action right now isn’t inaction.
I’m playing this smart. While keeping an eye on the market, in case something great pops up in my range, I’m also saving my ducats for when that day comes. I’ve learned the hard way that you can’t let frustration or discomfort rush you into something. It’s okay to wait. (And it’s an impatient Aries who said that.)

Look at the obvious options.
If I really wanted to, I could do a serious purge and make a little more space. I could add shelving in the kitchen. I could opt for a micro-wardrobe. I could do that. And I might. But, right now, that’s more stressful than accepting the status quo (besides, that ‘bout-to-burst closet keeps me from purchasing yet another blazer…I really don’t know what’s wrong with me in that regard).

Appreciate the growth.
It’s nice knowing that my life has changed, that I have evolved some, that I have obtained some of my goals and desires. That actually feels good. Even when I stub my toes.

Appreciate the irritants, too.
A pebble in the shoe keeps you from getting too comfortable, which helps you stay focused on your goals. My neighborhood, which I love, is becoming super douche-y. I can’t find parking when I get home. And I can’t stand the bark of my neighbor’s dog (which I get to enjoy whenever he goes into the backyard and under my window). Each time one of those pebbles are felt, I’m reminded that, yes, this is temporary and, while I don’t have to rush to move, I do need to keep looking for that opportunity. But, while I’m still here, I’ll be sure to enjoy it as much as I possibly can.

Outgrowth is a good thing and it’s even better that it isn’t exactly comfortable. That makes us ask questions, come to decisions and take action (even if that action is to wait). We don’t always realize how we’ve changed or grown, what priorities might have shifted, when we need or are ready for change. Maybe it takes a toe-stubbing of sorts to realize that. So, what have you outgrown?