The Glider That Got Away—My Take on Letting Go

Decision Fatigue is Real. And Probably Emotional.

Maybe you’ve been through it—that deep, wrenching struggle of what to give up and what to keep, what’s worth packing and what you’ll look at later and say, “Why in the world did I keep that?” And the longer you pack, the higher decision fatigue wall, leading to choices you may regret. Speaking for myself, of course.

The Perpetually Unused Glider

Some people get sentimental over family heirlooms. Me? Apparently, I get emotionally attached to patio furniture. My “Why did I keep that?” was a two-seater glider swing. I wish I had a picture of it for you.

When we bought our first house, that glider was sitting in the backyard, a leftover from the previous owners. I had visions of fresh paint, flowery cushions, and gently rocking while the kids played in the yard. But alas, only the spray painting and new strapping got done. Regardless, when we moved several years later, I insisted on taking the glider. And when it was time to move yet again—you guessed it, I made sure the glider went with us, still unused and without cushions.

But this time we were moving to the extreme winds of North Fontana. As Roger cruised down the freeway, the glider literally flew out of the open trailer and landed on the side of the freeway. Swallowing his disgust, Roger pulled over and walked back to retrieve it, bless his heart.

Please tell me I’m not the only one who’s moved a thing several times and still never used it. Maybe the glider represented my longing for the life I imagined, not the one I could actually afford or had time for.

Whatever the lesson, I admit I took a long time to learn it. Here’s where I’ve landed: The question to ask is not, “Do I want it?” That’s too broad. Better (and easier) decision-making comes from questions like, “Will I miss it?” and “How often will I use it, really?” Or I might remind myself, “We can get another one if I miss it too much.”

Building Momentum to Let Go

Back when we moved from a house to a cabin and later an RV, however, I found myself enjoying the momentum created by the weeding out process. I tore through our stuff, ruthlessly sorting things into 1) keep, 2) toss, and 3) give away or sell piles. Maybe you can imagine the twinges of guilt I felt, giving away or selling valuable furniture at a fraction of their cost. But it needed to be done, because an RV comes with an inherently serious storage shortage.  

So by the time we watched our cabin shrinking in the rearview mirror, I was a loud and proud advocate of a minimalist lifestyle. I spouted mottos like, “Less is more,” “Own things; don’t let them own you,” and “Appreciate, don’t accumulate.”

Facing the Pros and Cons Realistically

And I swore I’d never be a stuff manager again.

And you might guess how that’s working for me.

Honestly, I’ve kind of tempered my slash-and-burn tendencies. Sure, if you visited my home in Alabama, you might report, “Julie’s into a minimalist lifestyle. She doesn’t have much on the walls and very few knick-knacks. Her garages (yes, we have two) both hold cars, not stuff.” But as I face yet again all the decisions about what to take and what to leave behind for this second round of RV life, it's obvious stuff has crept up on me again.

For example, I have to laugh out loud when I count how many re-purchases I made to fill our home over the past two years. Literally, I re-bought the exact same items from Amazon, like the sewing cabinet that doubles as my desk, curtains, shower heads, even towel racks.

And every Christmas season since 2022, I regret giving away many of my favorite decorations. Going from 28 boxes to three boxes of Christmas decor was a good thing in many ways, but oh, how I wish I’d kept my Home Interiors Nativity statuettes.

Emotional Attachment Wins Sometimes

So as I pack and declutter this time, I’m giving careful consideration to not only practical decisions but space for emotional attachment. Photos and videos are no-brainers, of course. My Baby First Step and Mrs. Beasley dolls are also keepers, as is my great-aunt Edna's hand-painted china. And even a few items that fall into the glider category of a project I want to do someday.

I picture myself opening sealed boxes with vague inscriptions like “Odds and ends” and “little-used kitchen stuff.” Will I be pleasantly surprised at what made the cut? Or will I ask yet again, “Why in the world did I go to the trouble of packing that?”

So here's to balance in your life and mine as we make room for what matters without tossing the things we actually cherish.

How about you—what’s the one thing you’ve moved too many times but still can’t let go of? Tell me in the comments—please say I’m not alone!