“And what do you do with all your stuff?” I hear the disbelief in my mother’s voice. “Well, we’ll sell a lot, give away something, maybe store something, but we’ll also take a few things with us,” I say. I can understand why she sounds concerned. We’re moving abroad, in just a few months – and before that we have to clear out a three-storey house with a basement. What we want to take with us has to fit in a container.
We are neither messies nor minimalists, we have what a family with two young children needs. I thought. Because since I’ve been combing through the basement, playroom and our many closets, I’ve noticed that we have a lot that you don’t really need, but that has quietly and secretly accumulated with us step by step. The (second) sled that we were given, the countless mud pants and rubber boots, the games that our big boy couldn’t ignore when the neighbors in lockdown put their “to give away” boxes on the street. Expansive shelves of books and DVDs and tons of “maybe we’ll need this someday” stuff.
When my husband and I first started dating, we had a lot of fun showing each other what shaped us. We wanted to show each other our favorite films from our childhood and youth and gave each other our favorite books so that the other could learn something about our world. We eagerly awaited the moment when our partner announced with beaming eyes that he fully shared our enthusiasm. We liked to spend the weekends in record shops. We strolled and leafed through the paper sleeves and later proudly presented our finds to each other at the checkout. We wanted to create common memories of common days in special places.
Over the years, it has become a sport for us to give lovingly chosen gifts in the most misleading packaging possible, just to see the other’s face unwrapping them. So I received tickets for a Muse concert in a travel brochure about a river trip on the Loreley, another time Heino or “Dirty Dancing” had to serve. All these things, actually only intended as a joke for a moment, remained in our possession. During the corona pandemic, we couldn’t part with anything. The world around us seemed to descend into chaos, we needed our belongings like an anchor. But now it’s time to say goodbye, and with a goal in mind, it’s easier than ever.
We’re now doing what Japanese clean-up expert Marie Kondo likes to call “the big clean-up festival,” which is actually more of a clean-up festival. A few years ago I used it to reduce my wardrobe by a third and put eleven full sacks in the closet. And even before that I thought I didn’t have a lot of stuff.
I have already sorted all the books and films from my studies into various bookcases, the collections on psychology, post-war films and my Arabic language learning books. Briefly I was sentimental, wondering if she would not miss. Then it was just liberation. Space created for a new beginning thousands of kilometers away. All of the winter gear recently went to Turkey to visit the earthquake victims.
Our children are four and a half and one and a half years old and are very comfortable in their ancestral possessions. Whether it’s the dinosaur with the broken leg or the book with the ripped covers, they love what they have and don’t even think about parting with anything.
Even the older man only vaguely knows that we are moving abroad. When he recently dropped that he would like to fly in a really big plane, we took advantage of it right away. “Oh yes, we’ll do that,” my husband and I cried in unison. “That’s a really wonderful idea. And then we’ll find a house there and take all your Legos with us or sell them here and buy new ones there, how would you like that?” He was enthusiastic.
The next day he cried after kindergarten. “I don’t want to leave my friends.” Our plan to make everything look easy and cool was beginning to crack.
Since then we have been dealing with the issue more cautiously, more thoughtfully and prudently. We got the day care center on board and bought books in which children from all over the world show their homes, a world map puzzle and a large animal atlas. We registered Max for an English course so that it would be easier for him to start in the international kindergarten. We have eliminated all other hobbies from his afternoon program because he wants to spend as much time as possible in kindergarten with his friends.
We prepare photo books and discuss with him which toys he likes best. His tented bed is one of the few pieces of furniture that will accompany us. I promised him I wouldn’t give anything away without talking to him about it, and I’ll keep that promise, at least for the toys currently in the playroom. I secretly dispose of the half-forgotten boxes in the basement. The baby toys, the plastic stuff, the bins.
My husband and I work through long lists of what still needs to be done (cleaning out, ordering bulky waste, renewing passports, applying for visas, vaccinations). For the children we work through a rather ideal list: friends that we definitely want to see again. Toys that we have borrowed and still want to return. Things that we want to do again here (go to the swimming pool regularly, see a lot of grandma and grandpa, go to the zoo again). Will we still be able to do the baptism that we had to cancel in the fall because of Corona? Perhaps.
In our opinion, the most important thing at the moment is to keep calm. Allow the children as much peace as possible, leave their living space untouched for as long as possible. Only at the very end will we pack a suitcase for each child, put their favorite toys in it, shorts and arm bands. A bag with toys will be waiting for us at our new place of residence. And I promised my son that the first thing we would do when we arrived in our new homeland was go to a Lego shop. He can choose whatever he likes there. That’s what he’s looking forward to the most.