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Several months after moving from our much-loved spacious home in a semi-rural location, we thought it might be emotionally safe to return there to visit with neighbours. We had lived there for so many years. It had been painful but necessary to leave. We thought we had detached ourselves sufficiently.

But we were astonished by our sadness. To see the place again, to walk the paths and view the state of the creeks and slough. Our dog knew where she was, took off for “home” and waited to be let into that front door. Do we regret going? We should have waited longer. Were we inconsolable? No, our neighbour friends were consoling. Did we have regrets? No, we were just sad.

This is not the bone sorrow of residential school survivors and their families. It is not the grief of losing a beloved younger sibling to cancer. It is not the despair of refugees stuck in camps. It’s just garden variety sadness.

How to hold these contradictory emotions, sad but without regrets. The decision to move to a small rental right in town was the right one. Dispensing with truckloads of stuff was timely and good. So, what was the sadness all about? Oh, just being human. Change is inevitable. Aging is inevitable.

The Lord is always bringing us into a “Good Land”.  Even with less stuff and less space, we’re discovering a new land. The “honey” is easy access to the wonderful local Public Library. The “milk” is a senior’s bus pass to get to appointments.

Through the last months attending worship, the Lectionary readings have been about abundance, generosity, richness, plentiful resources, satisfaction. We are challenged to follow the gospel of Abundance and not the creed of Scarcity. Like the people of Israel on their exodus, we have been humbled and tested. That’s part of the process of downsizing. Seen in the global perspective, we are fabulously prosperous.

It’s just real and true to be sad, admit it and not perseverate on the sense of loss. 

There was another feeling state that surprised us. So, for those seniors who are considering taking the downsizing step, here is a word of preparation: we were affected by acedia.

Acedia, not a word we hear often in our parishes, but a state well known and discussed in earlier centuries. It’s quite common for folks who move from one place to another. Part disorientation, part low-energy, part detachment from routines and an overall listless kind of ambivalence. All summed up by feeling flat. (Of course, that could also be a virus, malnutrition, depression, or dementia onset.) Acedia used to be thought of as a “deadly sin”.  But maybe it’s no more than a need to rest from the concentrated effort of moving. It’s also the confusion of not knowing where you have put things such as, “Did we sell that rug, dump those winter boots, do we still have a bread knife and if yes, where is it?” 

Don’t assume moving will be exciting. A smaller abode is easier to keep up. No more long distances to drive to town. Now it’s possible to partake of town delights. Join a choir, go back to the gym, go out with friends on an evening. But instead, we mostly just hung around and napped. 

So, what to do? Fight it? Pretend it’s not happening? Seek relief with a pharmaceutical? Blame something or someone? As people in our late seventies, perhaps this state was already occurring, but we were so busy moving we did not notice.  When you are downsizing you just have to stay focused on the goals and ignore a lot of other events and feelings going on. You assume you will catch up emotionally later. 

We decided not to push it and practice the virtue of patience. Invest in trust. It’s not like we have been wandering for seventy years. Consider that post-move flatness is a kind of grief.  And though we have no regrets about the Great Cleanup, (Why and how did we acquire all that stuff in fifty-one years of marriage?) we only really miss a few things and do not intend to replace them.

As oldsters, we are tasked to be models of satisfaction and contentment in a culture of excess and emotional dishonesty. My generation has mostly had parents who were models of careful stewardship. They practiced trust in the economy of grace which is not the same as the economy of consumerism and social media posing.

During Christmas’s happy liturgical and social events, many, especially mothers of young children, long for some quiet alone time. Families under financial pressure hope to spend less while desiring to be generous gifters. The shopping centres in December glitter with cravings (but no savings). Tension (spend/not spend) is an exercise in trust.

The acedia may dissipate and energy flow again in our lives even if minutes of napping increase. Listlessness is not a symptom to be cured but a healthy rest. Remember that, post-Christmas, most seniors feel a little flat. As for gifts, keep them tiny in size. Having disposed of stuff, now there’s no place to store even a new mug. Hoping there will be a restoration of energy in our household, we plan to distribute it around. “They who sow sparingly, reap sparingly”.

Sadness/no regrets. Listlessness/energy. Pared down/rich. Anxiety/Christmas joy. It’s not how you resolve them; it’s how you carry them. You hold the opposites in creative tension.  You sense your hurt and simultaneously practice resilience. Both, say the mystics, are gifts from the merciful One.

After Christmas, we will return to our old neighbourhood. Our dog will wade in the creek. We will walk past our old home which will be easier because the new owners are making hugely visible renovations, so it feels less like “ours”. We will carry any loss we still feel with grace. 

To those seniors who are, or about to make a downsizing move, be gentle, you will settle.  A New year is around the corner. There will be milk and honey.

Hannah Main-van der Kamp lives in Powell River. She did join a choir, found new local trails and creeks. Even the dog is settling down and might accept her new front door.

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Credit: Guzaliia Filimonova