Downsizing and the theory of relativity

IKEA KALLAX cubes.
My favorite of all the cubes.

It's funny.  You'd think that moving from a 1000 square foot apartment to a 1000 square foot home wouldn't be difficult, but then you'd be wrong.

This house is tiny and meticulous.  I'm shedding skin and shedding possessions.  If you are the kind of person that romanticizes tiny houses, or feels like we all need to be a "little more Zen", I'd like you to meet the reality of my life.

Those of you who know me, know that I'm a musician.  I play piano, bass, guitar, and trumpet.  I have gear.  I have amps.  I have a giant upright bass that takes up about six square feet of floor space and stands about six feet tall. I have sheet music and files.

The long and short of it is that there's no room.  I can't have the house with the "flow" and the "energy" and also keep my stuff.  It's almost like the theory of relativity applies to stuff... energy and matter are related.  You can convert matter to energy by selling your stuff.  Less matter - more energy.

I sold my couch (more on that later), my desk, my dining room table, and a coffee table.  The only furniture I moved to the new house were beds, my kitchen table, and a bunch of those awesome IKEA Kallax cubes.

Selling the piano was the hardest - I'll talk about that later.  But for the most part, selling was a liberation for me.  Each possession was a reminder of a part of my life that led to now.  My ex-wife picked out my dining room table, and it was a scarred, damaged relic of a failed attempt at a "normal" family home.

I sold "Oaky" the table to an artist in Logan Square for $73 (she was supposed to pay $75 but she didn't have it on her).  My craigslist ad read like this:

"Oaky" the big dining room table.

This table is big (76" x 42") and solid.  It is the kind of table at which you eat stew.  Not a watery, soupy stew but the big thick stew that has potatoes and carrots in it.  This table is also good for making art.  Not the little ninny coloring book kind of art, but the huge-ass, giant, messy art where you climb on the table and you get paint under your fingernails.  It's got some scuffs and paint stains but each of those is a badge of artistic heroism.  This table has seen some stuff, man.  If it had a name, it would be Butch or Shane or Tex.  It's a survivor.  $100 or best offer.

Unloading stuff was fun - so far I value the energy more than the matter.