I am in the process of packing up my house (again – the third time in two years) and it’s occurred to me that all this stuff is dead weight.
I love my artworks, vintage glassware, books and collection of hand woven and embroidered tablecloths but I don’t need any of it. The thought of moving it makes me feel exhausted.
I was brought up to believe in three bedroom ownership; the security of brick and tile. The older I get, the more I realise that security is an illusion. Home is where you feel at peace, where you can rest, where you are loved. It has nothing to do with owning things, and certainly not expensive things like houses that keep you rooted to one spot.
Have you ever wondered why so many retirees can’t wait to pack up and drive into the sunset? Is this wanderlust and desire to shed belongings a fundamentally human urge that we repress in our earlier years?
I got a postcard from my mum yesterday. She is camping in the Daintree and she sounds positively giddy with pleasure. It’s warm up there, she’s going for bushwalks on the Bloomfield Track and meeting up with old friends she’s collected on her travels. She’s a pro at living in campertrailers, fishing and exploring wilderness. I envy her freedom.
If you’ve ever wanted to leave a trail of red dust and white sand (rather than paying off a mega mortgage), check out this site where you can buy new and used caravans and campertrailers: Australia motorhome classifieds. And while you’re there, get me one too!