Haven’t reported in ages. So much has happened though. We moved house last week — just down the street, but into something much smaller than the place we lived before.
So we had to say goodbye to a lot of stuff. Not just that. Our double garage was still packed with boxes and parcels from our German house. We spent ages merging two households worth of possessions, then cutting everything by a third. Marie Kondo stood over our shoulders like a stern schoolteacher, rapping our knuckles every time we wavered or lost the courage to let things go.
The folks at Awabakal Waste Disposal greet me with a handshake now. I’ve been there two or three times a week lately. It hurts, throwing away children’s things, old school books, wardrobes, kitchen appliances, all sorts. Sure, big families accumulate more stuff. Some we bought ourselves, some we received as gifts — and we always knew we wouldn’t need it, but we shoved it somewhere anyway just to drive it to Awabakal later. “Does this go to Awabakal?” became our most important question these past weeks.
So much stuff flows through our lives. It’s not just dead material — it cost serious money, which means work time, which means life time. What do you really need? For our family this was a defining experience and a massive opportunity to get lean and lighter. Instead of plastic junk that just gathers dust and barely gets used, we want to collect experiences again. Preserve memories. You don’t need space for that, just openness.
Now I’m sitting on our house veranda thinking how nice a barbecue would look here. Maybe one of those fancy pizza ovens too. Here we go again! But honestly: how often would we use it? How much time goes into preheating and keeping it clean? Is the expensive purchase worth it (my research obsession means it would have to be the Ooni Karu 16) or do we just bake in our brilliant kitchen oven that we specially imported from Germany?
Same with the barbecue: do we really need one of those cabinet-sized things when we barely eat meat anymore and they’re a nightmare to clean? Why not just grab a sausage or steak at one of the Sunday market stalls in Newcastle? Suddenly there’s so much more time because I don’t have to work for these things — I can walk by the ocean with my family or swim at Belmont Ocean Baths instead.
Getting lean means there’s no room for a proper office in the new house. I’ll chase shadows around during the day. My MacBook and noise-cancelling headphones will be my best mates. But that has advantages too. I can work outside, in cafés, at the library. As a former “digital nomad” it’s in my blood anyway.
None of this is new to me. Video meetings will be interesting though. They’re always in the evening here because of the time difference, right when dinner chaos kicks off. Maybe my conversation partners will have to get used to me sitting in the garden or by the ocean. I want to write about this soon anyway. Already know the headline: “You can keep your pyjamas on (but then so can I).”
Until next time.
First published in German at reinergaertner.de, where I’ve been at it since 1997. AI did the heavy lifting on the translation. I did the heavy squinting at the result.