If the original pre-Imposition Tour furniture purge was brutal, then I suppose you could say that my Miami purge was savage.
I was in no mood to drag things we didn’t need across the entire country just so I could hate it in a new town. That’s a pretty harsh statement, I know. But I’m just remembering how I felt about all of our stuff when the “full-service” movers arrived to pack up my gorgeous loft condo.
The crazy thing is that I only lived in that perfect condo for three months, but saying goodbye to it brought on a genuine spasm of grief for me. It was so beautiful, and no matter which room I was in, I’d catch myself sighing with such pleasure about the fact that I got to live there. And, even though I often considered wearing oven mitts whenever I turned on a light switch, I loved it there. So much.
Why couldn’t that have been my forever home?
(Don’t worry. I know the answer to that question. But I really did love that loft!)
My grief was intense, and while I was organizing the packers, I think I might have been stuck in the anger stage the entire time. Denial came and went about 15 minutes after Lou resigned; but my anger lingered for a while. I think I was mostly angry with myself.
How did I let myself fall in love with my things again?
Hadn’t I learned my lesson the first time?
It’s one thing to not have much, but another thing all together to lose what you have because you can’t afford the life you think you need. So to arrange those thoughts in my brain, I think I decided it might just be easier if I got rid of everything on my own terms. You can’t lose something you don’t have, right? And I knew I’d never like any of our stuff ever again because it was meant to live in that beautiful Miami loft… Without me.
Of course Lou had some very strong opinions on the subject of “his furniture.” He was in total favor of keeping every single thing we owned. He, too, was angry — only his anger was “old anger” that was left over from my original purge. But. He was already in California, moving on with our new life. So, when things got really hectic with the packing, all of the big decisions were on me. (Lucky me. But also… Poor Lou.)
So, as soon as it became clear that we didn’t order a big enough moving truck, I started giving things away. One lucky mover got our chocolate brown love seat and recliner; while another one was the proud new owner of a small deck table and chairs. There were so many other things that I let go — and I would’ve let it all go if Lou would’ve been on board with that idea. I never wanted to be ransomed by my things ever again. And, I was heartbroken by how quickly I rebuilt a life I swore I’d never live in again.
It felt like it took forever for the packing team to finish up, but once the last box was loaded into the truck, I went back upstairs to the loft to wait for Marlin to come collect my keys, elevator FOBs, and garage opener.
The sun had already set, and the sky was a gorgeous blush of pink and blue light as I stood on the balcony off of the living room. I felt weepy as I watched the sailboats gently bob in the canal below. My time in Miami was brief, and intense in every way. But I think I always sensed that Lou and I weren’t meant to call that city home.
There was never any peace in my heart. Only fear.
