The Person I Was vs. The Person I’m Becoming.

I am currently in the thick of it. And by “it,” I mean a lifetime of accumulated evidence that I am a person who might need a rusty nail at 3:00am on a Tuesday.

As I get closer to retirement, I’ve realised that I’m not just tidying up; I’m performing a sort of archaeological dig through my own history. My house is currently a museum dedicated to the artifacts of “Just in Case”. I have bookshelves overflowing with books I’ve promised myself I’ll get round to reading (yet I still can’t stop myself buying more, both paper and digital editions). I have a filing cabinet that acts like a one-way street: paperwork goes in, but it never, ever comes out. (Hands up, I’m not alone here, right?!)

I’ve even found instruction manuals for electrical stuff that I no longer own, and am rabidly hanging on to their receipts as well. Just in case.

The Weight of Someday

It’s easy to laugh at the rusty nails and the ancient receipts, but there’s a deeper layer to this clutter. We hold onto things because of emotional ties, or because we’re convinced that one day these items will be worth a fortune. But while we wait for that mythical payday, these things are taking up the most valuable currency we have: space and peace.

It isn’t just physical, either. My digital life is just as crowded. There are subscriptions I’m still paying for apps and websites I rarely use; newsletters I haven’t opened in a year, and bookmarked online courses that I have listed on a spreadsheet (how organised!) for me to work my way through when I have the time.

The Big Shift

As I look toward retirement, I have to ask: Who is this new person going to be? Retiring isn’t just about stopping work; it’s a total identity shift. The person I was needed a filing cabinet full of 2012 receipts for tax purposes (I didn’t really, but sorting it out was a job for tomorrow. Always tomorrow). The person I am becoming wants a clear desk and a mind that isn’t wondering where the life insurance policy is buried.

I recently had a thought that stopped me in my tracks:

“Sometimes the hardest part of simplifying isn’t the sorting itself. It’s deciding who we want to be now. Our things tell stories about the lives we’ve lived, but they also quietly dictate the lives we continue to carry. Letting go means choosing the next chapter intentionally, not out of habit or history.”

Swedish Death Cleaning sounds macabre to some, but to me, it feels like the ultimate gift. It’s about “leaving lightly” so my loved ones aren’t left sorting through my “treasures” (read: my collection of empty jars), but it’s also about “living lightly” right now.

I’m choosing to edit my story so the next chapter has a lot more white space.

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One Small Zen Step

The Manual Evacuation*: Find one instruction manual for an item you no longer own. Recycle it. You don’t need the instructions for a life you aren’t living any more. Repeat as necessary.

*That phrase means a completely different action in a medical setting. Just saying.

Photo by Wonderlane on Unsplash