Rule #313: Purge Often

When we moved to Florida in 2017 we decided to get rid of everything we didn’t use. I filled two loads of a 40-yard dumpster and ran a massive garage sale. I thought I was making good progress.

I hadn’t even scratched the surface.

The problem was compounded by moving into a 7,200 sq ft house that didn’t force hard decisions. I could keep life’s “treasures” without consequence — things that will become my children’s burden to haul away when we’re gone. Fortunately we did collect a fair amount of valuable art and coins, which will make the eventual clean-up feel more like a treasure hunt. But there will still be yards and yards of useless stuff.

My divorce 20 years ago purged a lot of my things, and moving to Florida helped again, but I still accumulate useless stuff — as useful as an old cheese grater. The real clutter isn’t the stuff; it’s the emotional baggage we carry. We don’t force change because, frankly, it’s just too damn hard. Comfort is easy, and that’s why we keep the old dish towel and the broken Halloween decorations. It’s why we accept lives that stop challenging us.

Florida was scary for me. At 57 I moved away from family and friends into a little Jumanji of snakes, roaches, cane toads, and hurricanes. Yes, it’s a beautiful house on the water — and yes, it’s still friggin’ Florida. But Florida energized me. It forced me to meet new people and to work at keeping old friendships. It made me a better, more interesting person. I have regrets, sure — but as Frank Sinatra said, they’re “too few to mention.”

Now, as I approach my 60s (and yes, that’s a risky bet), I’m trying to purge more than just things. I want to shed emotional baggage and take risks I couldn’t afford in my 30s — when I was too poor, too afraid, or too focused on my kids. I want my 60s to bring more challenges and change than my 40s did. I reluctantly accept that I will one day die, and that acceptance gives me the freedom to put it all on black and laugh if it comes up red. The true secret is that living is so much more important than winning.

Remember Eevee’s “four spins to glory” on the roulette wheel. Even if her all-or-nothing bets hadn’t worked out, she would have had one hell of a story. Stories last longer than money.

My good friend Tim is leaving a job where he had the best results in the company. He’s not leaving because he failed — he’s leaving because the ceiling elsewhere is a little higher. Yes, he could fail. But by stepping into the unknown he gives a big middle finger to complacency and chooses to be different. I admire that. Even if he stumbles, he will have won.

I’m not saying jump out of every plane or ignore sensible risk. You have families, retirement plans, kids to get through college. But once in a while, fill up the dumpster and jump without looking. It’s supposed to be scary — scary leads to the best stories.

And you all know how I love my stories.

Love, Dad