I thought about calling this post, The Return of the Bad Penny…

You’ll see why in a minute. But instead, it seems like this post is more about letting go of things on the inside than anything else. And the fact is, this time in my life is way more complicated in my memory of it than I can adequately express. But, as usual, I’m going to at least try.

So to pick up where I left off, the whole frenzy over not getting my pilot in front of Ira in time rattled me a little, but I think it also helped me. It was time for me to put the business of selling a pilot at the center of my focus. No more fantasy…no more pretending or imagining was needed. It was time to get practical and unemotional. 

So for me, directly dealing with Sam in my mind was a necessary action so that I could emancipate him from my process. If Ira wanted to option the series, Sam would need to show up on his own to claim his role — if he actually had any — in the project. I was no longer a conduit that connected Sam to Eloise. He was finally his own person in my mind. And even though Sam’s participation as my mentor gave him some power to delay things for me, he didn’t have that much power over me (or Eloise) anymore.

I could feel myself honestly letting go of him.

It was also time for me to stop babying myself, or stalling out in my “search for the real me.” Indulging in my lost feelings wasn’t useful anymore, and it was time to join the real world, and take part in my real life again. Lou and I needed to make some decisions, and we needed to be together again. 

I was tired of being so lost in my feelings and fears — even though I still had some lingering worries. And while it might take another month of waiting and wondering about what would happen next for the pilot, my life was still moving forward. Decisions had to be made, and Lou and I needed to make them together. 

This was our life, and it was time for me to step back into it in the best way that I could.

Lou came back to Utah the week after my return from LA, and we started putting things in order to leave Salt Lake City for good. We met with the building manager and found out that a two-bedroom unit like ours was in high demand. So if we timed it just right, we might be able to immediately rent our unit, and transfer the lease to a new tenant if we could act quickly. It was shocking to me that our dumpy-ass, cold-as-crap, depressing unit was “in high demand,” but the news was very welcome. However, there was no time to waste. Lou and I had one full week to make a strategy and completely move out — even though we had no place to go.

Lou’s consulting gig seemed to be lining up in LA, but there was an all too familiar narrative going on where the company would need to “raise money” in order to bring him on. (Ugh!) But they kept Lou on the line by promising him things like a corporate condo in LA, an expense account, and other perks that would’ve truly altered our lives. 

The thing is, dates kept changing, and the budgets for what they would do did, too. It was infuriating, but at the same time, we’d been in this boat before, and we were experts at living in a holding pattern. However, we needed to make a move of some sort with very little money to work with — so we knew we had to be smart. And, we had to be practical. 

When I got back from England (and just before Lou left for LA) we rented a very small 5 x 10 storage unit that looked like a hallway with a skinny garage door. It was a mile away from our condo, and so before Lou got back to Utah, I decided to start boxing up and gathering some of our things to get them stored. I also donated four carloads of stuff to charity. The loads mostly consisted of my clothes that didn’t fit me anymore, and a lot of dishes and things that just seemed to be a huge bother to keep lugging around. Even as whittled down as I had gotten our lives before our last move, we still seemed to have a lot of “stuff.” But none of that stuff made my current place feel like a “home.” So, I purged our life again.

But the most stressful and painful part of this process meant that we really had to face “Lou’s furniture” this time. 

Our storage unit was pretty small. 

It was the cheapest option we could find, and when we rented it, I still couldn’t fully comprehend how much stuff we had. So I did my very best to perfectly organize and fit our boxes into the tiny space, leaving as much room as I could for any of our furniture. But it was so tight in that storage unit. Between the important paperwork and various pieces of decor we still valued, there was not enough room for Lou’s remaining furniture. 

Even discussing the furniture situation when Lou got back brought up a lot of emotions for us both. When I re-read some of the things I’ve written in my journal (and in this blog), I see various metaphors showing up about how I’ve felt about my marriage and our things. Certainly, the way I felt about my two-seater sports cars — and being in them with Lou — sums up a lot of my expectations, irrational emotions, and fears inside of my marriage. 

But from day one, my feelings about “Lou’s furniture” seemed to set up a constant source of conflict. His furniture represents one of those “bedrock” arguments between us that is embedded at the very foundation of my life with Lou. So talking about what to do with all of the pieces of Lou’s furniture that we still had left felt very much like digging up another problem in our marriage that we clearly couldn’t ignore, during a time when we were still so very raw.

Anyway…

I found a consignment shop with really nice things that seemed to be pretty busy, and so I stopped in to discuss their terms one afternoon. Even though I was convinced that this would be the best solution to our problem, I knew it was still up to Lou to sign the consignment agreement. So after we talked about it, and Lou reluctantly decided that we needed to sell his stuff. I remember that I sat in the car while he went into the shop to show the furniture dealer pictures of all of our pieces. 

When he came out, Lou looked gray. 

There was no amount of money that this dealer could offer Lou that would make letting go of his furniture feel worth it to him. But. He had agreed to have the dealer pick up every stick of furniture in our condo — aside from our dining table and six bamboo chairs — the following day. 

It was really happening… 

Whenever Lou is really sad, we eat Mexican food. It’s his go-to comfort food. I vividly remember sitting across the table from him at this cheap Mexican restaurant right after Lou singed away all of his furniture. I knew that letting go of it was really difficult for him. I think I’ve always understood that Lou’s furniture represented an emotional attachment that maybe even went back to his youth when he lost both of his parents. And even though he often reminded me of how expensive each piece was when he bought it, I knew in my heart that the cost wasn’t the only way Lou measured the value of his furniture. 

I think as humans, we attach ourselves to certain belongings that give us the perception of comfort in the midst of loss… And, I fully understood that Lou had faced a lot of loss — in his young life, and more recently, with me. So I realized that Lou was bravely facing the letting go of something deeper in that moment, and nothing I could say or do would make that easier or better for him. Everyone has his or her own version of comfort. Mine happens to be clean sheets and towels, while Lou’s was his expensive man furniture. I get it.

Believe me when I say that I felt sad, too… But I also felt relieved. That furniture represented a lot to me, too, and letting it go felt freeing, and like Lou and I could look ahead to the future with a fresh start. We were lighter and more agile now — and for me, our things didn’t have as much power to cost us, define us, or trap us anymore. But I knew better than to share my feelings with my husband. He was grieving something bigger than the furniture. So… I just quietly munched on a few tortilla chips and gave Lou his space. 

Lou was giving up a lot for me. For us. And I knew that…

Letting go can sometimes make me feel so lost and empty. But sometimes, it can make me feel hopeful and free. All of the letting go Lou and I were doing during this time in our lives gave me a steady mixture of all of the above.