I remember the day the Decision Fatigue hit me prior to Nomad Life. Inside my house on the brink of its sale, I was sorting piles of stuff: Pack, Keep, Sell, Donate, Trash.
A slightly worn pair of Birkenstocks showed up. I knew I wouldn’t get the $175 I paid for these sandals, they didn’t fit my shoe wardrobe needs of my Nomad Life, my kid didn’t want them, and they valued more than trash.
Throwing them away would quicken the decision-making process, and I’d be able to move to the next decision. Grandma’s rocker, a bag of dog food, a toaster oven.
When is throwing away a $175 pair of shoes the best available choice?
Fatigue By a Million Decisions
The decisions about flights and hotels for our first leg of Nomad Life still loomed; our daughter’s decision on which college she’d go to held up our plans.
I’d had enough. I couldn’t make another decision. Even picking out breakfast from the remaining bits of groceries we had (bagel, hummus, banana, tuna) buried me.
How was I ever going to make hundreds of decisions on my stuff, my husband’s stuff, my daughter’s stuff, my dog’s stuff, AND all the travel and logistics planning decisions that barrelled at us faster than an ice cream melting on a hot Sedona day?
Decision Fatigue slammed into me, incapacitating me. I lay on the floors, staring at the ceiling, draping myself over clothing piles, Tupperware lids, and dog beds.
The ceiling fan continued to spin.
Joy Is the Focus
Then it hit me. Instead of focusing on the work of a million decisions, I’d focus on the joy of my future freedom. The fun we’d have. The new life we’d be living.
All I had to do was get over a mountain of stuff to get to a valley of happiness.
Suddenly, I didn’t care about the stuff anymore. Whether it sold for top dollar or trashed into the dump, I refocused to minimalism and travel. All the fretting about the decisions disappeared.
I simply didn’t care anymore about my stuff.
I cared only about the joy of NOT having stuff.
And that’s when the Decision Fatigue vacated.
The Future Is Experiences
I learned that my mountain of stuff visually represented my past. I wanted the future I’d worked my life to have. That work had purchased that stuff. But as the work retired, the stuff had to go, too. Work and stuff were the past. The future held joy and freedom.
Letting it go let me go.
~Chris
PS If you want to know why we hired an Estate Sale Agent and how that was the easiest way to not only get rid of our stuff, but to also get top dollar for our items, read this post Three Kernals of Advice.
PPS If you need help with how to actually do some extreme downsizing, read this post and watch this video.
Join us on our Facebook group to discuss Nomad Life. You’ve got kindred spirits there.
