“Our house is freezing,” my daughter says of our current home. She’s finally emerged from her bedroom, cocooned in flannel pajamas, an oversized Taylor Swift sweatshirt, and thick socks. 

“Put on a sweater,” I say.

Years ago, I’d turn up the thermostat, to my husband’s dismay.

“I’m not working full-time to shiver in my own home,” I’d say.

Menopause later converted me to Team Leave It At 68º Or Lose A Finger.

“Feel how cold my room is,” my daughter says another day, pulling me into her bedroom with an icy grip on my wrist. Her room is over the garage, and the added insulation we paid for years ago has apparently disintegrated.

“A cold room is better for sleeping,” I tell her. “They’ve done research.”

I’m at a moment where less effort, less energy rules. Welcome to my almost empty-nest downsizing.

Empty-Nesters: The Low-Effort Lifestyle

Here’s the thing. We’re not neglectful parents. Nobody’s starving, our house is clean, we pay our bills on time, and we keep up with the maintenance and landscaping.

But with our daughter, in her twenties, on the brink of moving out, we’re not so eager to invest more time or money on improving the home we plan to sell once our nest is fully emptied (I whisper out of earshot of our 15-year-old dog). I’ve entered my “be lazy” era.

On the brink of moving out, we’re not so eager to invest time or money in improving our home. So I’ve entered my “be lazy” era.

The thought of downsizing conjures mixed emotions.

There’s the appeal of a clean slate that comes with moving to a smaller place. By necessity, I’ll have to pare down. Only items currently in high rotation (or those I can’t bear to part with) will make the cut. Knowing this, my desire to shop has been curbed substantially.

The downside of downsizing, of course, is what it represents. Saying goodbye to the home we’ve lived in for more than 25 years and watching our household of four (four-legged offspring included) shrink to the original two in a smaller space requiring less maintenance.

Preparing for a Simpler Life in a Smaller Home 

Until then, my husband and I are embracing an empty-nest mindset — where frugality and laziness rule the roost. Our been-there-done-that-over-it attitude has made us a bit laissez-faire when it comes to mundane domestic concerns. Like what to make for dinner.

“Let’s just pick tonight,” we say most weeknights. As in: pick through the wasteland of our kitchen. Like a contestant on Chopped, my husband can Frankenstein an impressive salad from a ragtag lineup of disparate ingredients while I happily down a bowl of Kashi GO cereal.

Frugality and laziness rule the roost. My husband can Frankenstein an impressive salad from the disparate ingredients in our wasteland of a kitchen.

Our daughter no longer complains that there’s no food in our current house. Armed with an iPhone, credit card, and half a dozen food delivery apps, she’s winning the hunger games without leaving her bedroom.

Taking “Take It Easy” to the Extreme

This experiment in expending minimal effort has unleashed a spirited competition between my husband and me. We take a perverse pleasure in seeing how far we can push things, which has escalated into a contest of wills — less Hunger Games than Game of Chicken.

This experiment in expending minimal effort has escalated into a contest of wills – less Hunger Games than Game of Chicken.

Like Survivor, the reality-TV game show that boasts more seasons than my 33-year marriage, our goal is to outwit, outplay, and outlast.

Which of us can more convincingly feign sleep when the dog barks to go out at 2:17 a.m.?

Who can reload our overstuffed dishwasher to fit one more bowl onto the groaning upper rack?

Who will finally break down and start a fresh tube of toothpaste when the old one’s been steamrolled beyond the laws of physics? (Pro trick: The collar of the tube holds at least a three-day reserve of pea-sized blobs. Just smooth your way under there and press with both thumbs.)

Let the Decluttering Begin! May the Odds Be Ever in Your Favor

One night, while flipping through Hulu, I rediscover HGTV. I dive down a rabbit hole of tiny houses, beachfront cottages, and retirement properties with a minimalist vibe, and emerge with a rekindled interest in readying my nest for the next family of birds.

When my husband asks, “Did you see the notice today about the garage sale?” I’m all ears.

Every summer, our neighborhood holds a weekend-long sale we usually opt out of. I’d rather drive our donations to Goodwill than spend two entire days sweating on my driveway, haggling over quarters, and struggling to calculate change while strangers rifle through my stuff.

As we start clearing out what took three decades to accumulate, most of our garage-sale items will be tagged “free to a good home.”

But now, my husband and I are competing on the same team and we have one shared mission to accomplish: start clearing out what took three decades to accumulate. So this year, we’re pulling out our folding tables for the sale. We’re less interested in tax write-offs than keeping useful items out of a landfill. Most will be tagged, “free to a good home.” Including the folding tables. Our laziness means, “What’s mine is yours,” literally. Less stuff is the new goal.

The first step: We must sort our belongings. Our architectural dig begins, appropriately, in the basement.

Sifting through boxes, I’m transported through time. I find my daughter’s old softball equipment, the collection of home movies my late father lovingly videotaped, and a veritable Bed Bath & Beyond’s worth of housewares I once chose with the excitement of a new bride and homeowner.

Empty Nest Downsizing: When Nostalgia Gets in the Way

I see the scarecrow and witch we used to display on our porch every Halloween, still shedding straw from their shelf in the back. A museum of abandoned workout equipment I bought from infomercials, vowing to finally get in the best shape of my life (remember The FIRM?). I shuffle stacks of CDs like a blackjack dealer and recall what it felt like in my twenties, just married and moving into an apartment, dreaming of the house we’d one day buy.

There’s freedom in an empty nest, a lightness born of letting go. But that nest isn’t woven from twigs but threads of memories.

It dawns on me that downsizing will be more complex than I anticipated. Sure, there’s freedom in an empty nest, a lightness born of letting go. But that nest isn’t woven from twigs, but threads of memories. Before I can move forward, I must travel to the past and retrace the steps that brought me to this moment.

My daughter interrupts this thought with a text:

Come upstairs with Dad and me

I ordered Shake Shack for all of us

Her considerate gesture pulls me back to the present and reminds me that our shifting family dynamic is not something to dread. Yes, the time has come for some almost empty-nest downsizing. But while my square footage may be shrinking, our lives are still expanding.

***

Abby Alten Schwartz is a Philadelphia writer whose essays and reported stories explore a variety of topics, including parenting, relationships, health & wellness, humor, and Gen X living. Her work has appeared in The Washington Post, HuffPost, Next Avenue, Scary Mommy, Salon, Chicken Soup for the Soul, and elsewhere. Follow her on social media @abbys480, on Substack at t Name Three Things or visit abbyaltenschwartz.com.