There's nothing *quite* like watching strangers and neighbors pick through your stuff to clue you into how you're feeling about an upcoming transition.
That's what I did ALL day today -- and it was a BLAST.
From the moment our first customer shuffled away with my desk (of the large, sweeping variety not intended for tight spaces) and came back thirty seconds later to enquire about our Nutribullet; I knew it would be a fun day.
We were joined at the curbside yard sale by our landlord Michele and neighbor Allison, who lugged their stuff to the curb beside ours and giggled every time I chorused "ONE DALLAH" in my best Rhode Island accent to hopefuls as they held up an old book or flower vase.
The first Christmas gift Bruce ever gave me -- our record player -- sold for $50 to a French couple who agreed to come back at the end of the day, so as not to interrupt the selling atmosphere the music provided.
I sold three dresses for $35; a ceramic jar crammed full of cooking utensils for $2; and a $75 Wusthof whetstone for $5.
Our tennis rackets -- source of much competition and equal parts joy and chagrin -- for $20.
The whole day -- which was perfect and blue-skied and sunny -- I held the twin demons of nostalgia and regret at arm's length.
Thusly, I danced with the vague fear that keeps many of us burdened by things:
That my memories -- unmoored by the solidness of the material world -- would be lost, forevermore, to obscurity.
Perhaps, without the record player, I wouldn't remember what it was like to share a 225-square-foot studio; or to forego the waste that is wrapping paper for the fun of draping each gift with a blue plaid blanket, and whisking it off with a flourish.
Such fearful thoughts flitted into and out of my mind, as I repeatedly consulted it for a number that seemed "fair."
But bigger than this fear, was the knowledge -- deep down in my bones -- that these things were NOT the same as the people who gave them, nor the good feels that came from them, nor the memories attached to them.
And so I laughed -- and bartered, and haggled, and sweetened the deal.
And, as my landlord and neighbors can attest -- I was in my element.
So much so that as night fell, and two customers returned to enquire about additional items, and I offered "one dallah..."