I sat solemnly while the lounge was devoured by a dump truck. A few chomps and it was couch creme brûlée.
I’d battled for that lounge like I imagine Meghan did for that Duchess title, pleading my case and ignoring all of those who recommended a more practical piece of furniture at the hands of 2 yoghurt coated sloths, a dog with fur that could splinter your feet and breasts that spontaneously combusted at a cry, dog bark or car backfiring.
The desire, the quality and the exquisite white piping engulfed me. I truly believed this lounge would secure my feature on Nate Berkus’ next montage.
In its final days it was more discarded bandaids, suspicious crusty smears and dried tears than it was linen upholstery.
But it was more than a lounge, it was a connection with a past life. The life where items remained as they were from day to night without the remnants of a dragged bum or pillows sacrificed for another gravity defying tower.
I’ve been thinking a lot about life shifts and what we choose to prioritise in different seasons of our journey.
As a youth, I got my kicks from re-arranging my room weekly, playing ‘Stan’ on repeat while I fluffed my sequin heart pillows I’d unpacked 35 dishwasher loads for.
As a young woman, it was a 4 pack of 97% sugar 3% alcohol mixers and an $11 spandex dress the same dimensions as a dinner napkin.
Even in my mid 20’s household items sparked no joy, moving in with my then boyfriend carrying only one box of homewares most of which I had ‘borrowed’ from my parents cutlery drawer.
Then something clicks - the adoption of an animal, a second glance at a half price throw, creating a Pinterest for different charcuterie boards.
For us, it was our first home together. I was 4 months pregnant and the urge to make my nest as habitable as possible was suddenly more alluring than an Ellery sample sale.
It was small enough to sweep in 5 minutes flat and metres from the hustle and bustle of the chaotically beautiful inner city streets.
There was simply no room to acquire useless things.
We were happy there. It was an eclectic mish-mash of both of our past lives where items had a story and a use. I didn’t want for more until I was told I needed it.
It happened in-between maternity leave and screaming potato’s arrival. I was figuratively and literally sold a new life.
If you have this, they’ll sleep. If you don’t have this they might overheat at night. Without this they’ll never settle.
But when aforementioned potato arrived and I sat at 3am in the white velvet rocking chair that I had nearly fought to the death for on the treacherous floors of Baby Bunting, I had an epiphany. I looked around me, a child gnawing at my bloodied nipple, lips so cracked you could rock climb them, none of the items surrounding me could help.
Regardless of the things we accrue, while it may please us as we wake and impress our guests, it will not pull us through any of the tough times, battles, bouts of sadness.
I wish I’d help onto that realisation for longer because shortly after this with another baby in belly, we left for more.
And suddenly there was an entire house that was filled, not just with 2 under 2 but with the baggage of the life before and the weight of the one before us.
The toy room door shut only with an agonising shoulder barge while a desperate foot kicked a keyboard and one eyed doll just fast enough to escape the eventual yet violent close.
There were 5 different hooded Peppa Pig towels we’d acquired at Christmas, bed sheets handed down by kind relatives that were pushed so far to the back of closest they were in Narnia. I had 2 different occassional chairs kindly left by the previous owners that I never sat in and a pool that demanded more chemicals than a nuclear power plant which we swam in twice a year.
Stuff, things, gifts, hand me downs, impulse purchases are all a luxury. They’re the desire to assimilate and the quest for perfection in an imperfect life. If we add this to the home, maybe it will give us control.
I had no control waiting for that visa. Just like I had no control over a newborn, a loss of a loved one or friends who came and left.
My desire for a beautiful vase or rug cannot compete with my longing to explore every crack and crevasse this world has to offer.
Each country we arrive in, a carry on suitcase in hand and a new adventure before us, I realise that without the sacrifice of the superficial this would have been unachievable.
And perhaps that’s where our needs pivot if we allow them because as I sat and shuddered at the sound of the machinery crunching a lounge that had witnessed both the very best and very worst of life it became glaringly apparent that everything that mattered, anything of worth was sitting next to me and behind me.
We traded in a swamped, suffocating life for the most simplistic we could have imagined. The chaos of a large city and living within it forces you to simplify as many elements as possible or the ones you have control over.
The lounge being swallowed into the abyss had cleared out a house and a cluttered mind and the few things we held dear now locked behind a roller door in a warehouse.
I arrived in a new country with everything I owned in 2 suitcases acutely aware that what I had chosen to leave was what so many dream of. My appreciation for that life and the ability to leave it is something that sits so prominently across my chest.
But the realisation of what I can live without is at the forefront of my mind.
Maybe the dump truck was the gateway to this new understanding because I write this in our little 3 bedroom apartment, a dog at my feet, empty walls and a lounge that came with the unit. This is temporary but it’s brought more happiness in the last 8 months than a house filled with ‘stuff’ ever did.
And I will carry this with me to the home we make next, reiterating to impressionable little humans the importance of humbleness and our innate ability to live with less and the importance of finding who you are out there in the world and not limiting yourself to a room with 4 walls.
For me, a country change has meant an entire reset on what drives me and what I require to live fully.
I’d spent years avoiding this part of myself ironically filling it with things I thought would assure acceptance. But there’s a power in facing your own inadequacies. In my case the destruction of a lounge changed my entire perspective, recognising that sometimes risking everything you’ve ever known is the only way to truly grow. And while a small part of a past life sits in a small lock up, the new life is one that could be carried around in that small box before I overcomplicated a simple, happy life.
Waw! Dose Rachelle have a way with words or dose she! We’ll said and heartfelt freshness