Life, Rewired

Things look different in my sixth decade, and I could not imagine this remarkable, simple life was even possible.

I stand up from the white leather chair, moving a few feet toward the washer. Might as well throw another load of laundry in between lines of the essay I’m writing. Stepping away gives me a new perspective.

Our home is compact, tidy. It’s the least amount of space we have ever occupied together. My painting of the pine tree, standing sparsely against a white background is a metaphor for our simple life now, after kids, career and caregiving.

I think of this phase as a sort of rewiring. Retirement doesn’t quite fit how it feels, as I’ve filled my time with writing and art-making. My perfect creative life.

Inside our six hundred square foot home, on land surrounded by trees, marsh and a small fishing lake, every inch of space serves a purpose. The kitchen holds the laundry – the dining table, and nearby the soft leather chairs where we rest and talk companionably.

My world and walls are dramatically smaller than in other chapters, when I believed more was better than less and lived accordingly. I know better now, in my sixth decade.

The repetitive task of washing the socks, the jeans, checking pockets, remembering or forgetting to take out the knit sweater that would likely shrink before it hits the dryer, is somehow soothing. I wonder when this happened, this shift in the way these menial tasks are regarded. Laundry was at one time a chore I wished were someone else’s.

I could not have seen how remarkable life could be, after square footage, stuff, and responsibility for others were stripped away – as life seemed full and good even then.

Now I cherish the quiet of a cooling fall evening, a hawk circling overhead. The walls of our home are rooted in art and the few precious objects that made the cut. I value the distance my relationship with my husband has come – from the young decision to marry, the hectic life of kids and career, the caregiving of parents, and the ease of our way together now.

Our space is reserved only for love, our care for one another central, made possible by less of everything else that might detract from it.

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