upworthy

change

Parenting

Empty nesters share their genius—and surprisingly touching—secret to downsizing

"All I have to do is look in the eyes of my two girls—and they take me back, every time, to the most beautiful, colorful, emotional scrapbook I could ever dream of having."

Jimmy Dunne/Facebook

Jimmy and Catherine Dunne figured out the secret to downsizing.

When your final child leaves the house for good, it's like a whole new world has opened up. The decades raising babies and children are full, rich, exciting, and loud. Your house is filled with laughter and sibling bickering, school projects and kid collections, never-ending laundry and food purchased in bulk. Life is big during those years. It takes up space physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Then come the empty nest years, when you find yourself swimming in a house full of unused rooms and piles of memories. Suddenly you don't need all that space anymore, and you have to figure out what to do with those rooms and those piles and those memories.

For one couple, the process of downsizing brought about a reflection on their family life, their relationship with their kids, and their stuff. In 2021, Jimmy Dunne shared that reflection entitled "Downsizing" on Facebook in a since deleted viral post that resonated with many people who are at or near this stage in life.

 empty nest, empty nester, parenting, parents, life stages An empty room.Canva Photos.

Dunne wrote:

"My wife Catherine and I recently moved.

I realized I had something I never knew I had.

Thirty-four years ago, I carried my wife in my arms over the threshold in our home. Thirty-four years ago. From newlywed days, to witnessing our babies go from little girls to young adults. So many great memories in every inch of every room of our home.

I didn’t think I was ready to ‘downsize.’ What an awful word. I liked walking through our girl’s bedrooms and still seeing their stuff on the walls and on the shelves. I liked our backyard. I liked imagining our kids coming down the steps every Christmas morning.

We put it on the market, it sold in a couple days, and suddenly agreements thicker than my leg were instructing me to clear everything I ever had and knew – out.

Every night I found myself saying goodbye to our backyard, to our garden of roses that Catherine would till and trim, to the sidewalk where the girls drove their Barbie cars and learned to ride their bikes, to our front lawn where we hosted tons of talent shows with all the kids on the block – and the red swing on the front porch.

We found a condo in town and started lining up our ducks of what we were keeping, and what we were tossing. We vowed, if we’re going to do this, we weren’t putting anything in storage.

I literally threw out half my stuff. Half. Half of the furniture. Half of my clothes, books. And the big one… way more than half the boxes in the attic.

The attic was more than an attic. It held our stories. Every thing in every box, every framed picture was a story. After we gave away almost all of the living room furniture, we split the room in half and brought down everything of the girls from the attic and from their rooms. We invited the girls over, handed them a cocktail and said, “There’s good news and bad news. We’ve saved all this stuff; your outfits, drawings, dolls, skates -- for you. It’s now yours. The bad news, whatever’s not gone by Friday at 10 in the morning, it’s getting chucked in that giant green dumpster in front of the house.”

The girls thought we were Mr. and Mrs. Satan. But they went through it, and that Friday, most of it went out the front door and right in the dumpster.

I filled the entire dining room with boxes of all my old stuff. Grade school stories and pictures, report cards, birthday cards, trophies, you name it. Boxes of old plaques and diplomas and just stuff and stuff and stuff like that. How could I throw any of this out? I may as well have been throwing me in the dumpster!

But this little jerk on my shoulder kept asking -- what are your kids going to do with all this a week after you're six feet under? They’re gonna chuck it all out!

Here’s the crazy thing. The more I threw stuff in there, the easier it got. And I started to kind of like throwing it up and over in that thing. I started to feel lighter. Better.

And we moved in a half-the-size condo – and the oddest thing happened.

It became our home.

A picture here and there on the wall, Catherine’s favorite pieces of furniture, all her knickknacks in the bathroom. We blinked, and it looked and felt just like us.

And then I found that thing I never knew I had.

Enough.

I had enough.

The wild thing was that having less – actually opened the door to so much more. More in my personal life. More in my career. More in everything.

All I have to do is look in the eyes of my two girls -- and they take me back, every time, to the most beautiful, colorful, emotional scrapbook I could ever dream of having.

All I have to do is hold my wife’s hand, and it hypnotizes me back to kissing her for the first time, falling in love with everything she did, seeing her in that hospital room holding our first baby for the first time.

It sure seems there is so much more to see, and feel, and be – if I have the courage, if I have the will to shape a life that’s just…

Enough."

You can also read Dunne's reflection on his website.

 downsizing, empty nest, empty nesters, family, parenting, change An older couple packing up their home. Canva Photos.

People shared Dunne's post more than 24,000 times and it's easy to see why. He's speaking a truth we probably all know deep down on some level: Things don't make a life. Things don't make relationships. They don't even make memories, though we tend to hold onto them as if they do. We may associate places and things with memories, but we don't need the places and things for our memories to live on.

It's not hard to notice Dunne's deep wisdom as the result of a life well-lived. Fortunately for readers everywhere, Dunne compiled his wisdom, including the viral "Downsizing," into a book that was released in September 2024 by Savio Republic and Post Hill Press, titled Jimmy Dunne Says: 47 Short Stories That Are Sure to Make You Laugh, Cry—and Think. Like his Facebook post, Dunne's book is filled with heartfelt, thought-provoking reflections that stand to teach readers valuable and relatable lessons. It even got an endorsement from none other than actor Henry Winkler.

Kudos to Dunne and his wife for looking ahead to what their children would have to go through after they pass if they didn't go through it now themselves. And kudos to them for truly embracing the freedom that comes with having raised your children to adulthood. The empty nest years can be whatever you choose to make of them, and this couple has figured out a key to making the most of theirs.

Keep up with the Dunnes on their Instagram, where they share more writing, wisdom, family moments, and sweetest of all—their grandbabies.

This article originally appeared four years ago. It has been updated.

From Your Site Articles
empty nesters
More

A transgender student was told he couldn't run for prom king. He fought back and won something better.

A Georgia high school has adapted gender-neutral prom court terminology, after receiving public backlash for telling a student he could only run for prom queen because he was born a woman.

Dex Frier, who has identified as transgender since his sophomore year at Johnson High School in Gainesville, Georgia, was seriously ecstatic when he received one of six coveted nominations for senior prom king, an honor he was beyond excited about. "I was jumping up and down. Me and my best friend were losing our minds, we were so excited," Frier told CBS affiliate WGCL.

However, school officials told him that because he was assigned female at birth, he could only run for prom queen. He — along with his friends, the student body and others around the world — were not okay with that decision.

Frier and his friends started an online ballot challenging the school’s decision.

“Allow transgender boy to run for Prom King,” they dubbed the Change.org ballot, which quickly amassed over 32,000 signatures in a week from individuals around the world supporting their plea for inclusivity.

“Just because I’m not legally male I was going to get excluded from something that every guy has the opportunity to be in high school. It was really upsetting,” Frier, who is often referred to by his teachers with male pronouns, told BuzzFeed on March 21. “As a student I felt I had the right to be put on the ballot.”

He continued: “I don’t know of many trans people who go to this school [but] I don’t want anyone else to have to go through this. It hurts being told you don’t deserve the same rights as someone else because you’re not the same as them.”

The administration was hesitant to make the change, but eventually they came to their senses.

On March 23, the school struck a compromise with the student body. They agreed to change the terminology from Prom “King” and “Queen” to simply having two “Royal Knight” seniors, who could be voted in regardless of their gender identity.

“This plan was one of compromise on both sides, and we would like to thank administration, both at the school and county level, for listening and welcoming our concerns ― and most importantly, implementing a plan to address them,” Frier’s friend, Sam Corbett, wrote about the victory on Change.org. “We hope this petition has not only pushed society further towards human rights equality, but also inspired someone to do the same for an issue in their community.”

He continued: “Not only is that number a symbol of the united support of human rights, but also a testament to the power of the individual.”

Unsurprisingly Frier was named one of the Royal Knights of the evening. Instead of being given the traditional crowns and tiaras, he received a feathered mask.

Photo via Pixabay

“It was amazingly overwhelming to win,” Frier told NBC. “They called my name, and all I could hear were my friends cheering for me. I just smiled extremely wide, and when I got to the bottom of the stairs, all of the people that had helped make this happen were either sobbing hysterically or smiling so wide I thought they would hurt themselves.”

Dex Frier’s experience isn’t just a personal win though. It’s a win for inclusivity. But we still have a long way to go.

Despite the reality that more and more teens today are identifying with non-traditional gender labels, many high schools and educational institutions have failed to adapt terminology and gender policies accordingly. However, there has been some progress made in recent years, signifying that things might be headed in a more gender-inclusive direction for children and teens.

Some of these include an Oregon high school introducing six gender-neutral bathrooms in 2013, a Kansas City school district deciding to go fully gender neutral when they renovated their elementary school bathrooms in 2018 and a Burlington, Vermont school debuting a gender-neutral locker room earlier this year.

At the university level, both Northwestern and Purdue have adopted a gender-neutral homecoming court, and the Chicago Tribune points out that many Chicago area high schools have also eliminated gender from their homecoming courts.

This latest triumph at Johnson High School clearly represents movement toward a more gender-neutral educational system. We can only hope that other schools can adapt their policies accordingly, and don’t have to wait for a situation like this to occur before taking action.

From Your Site Articles
More

Why LGBTQ people are leaving places like New York and San Francisco for red-state cities.

True
ABC's When We Rise

When Cleve Jones was growing up, he felt different from everyone else.

Living as a gay teenager in Phoenix, Arizona, in the early 1970s was difficult to say the least. His dad, a psychologist, believed that homosexuality was something to be cured. His classmates in gym class bullied him so much, he pretended to have a chronic lung ailment so that he could stay in the library instead of the gym. And at one point, he said, he felt so alone that he considered suicide.

Human rights activist and author of "When We Rise" Cleve Jones in 2009. Photo by Kristian Dowling/Getty Images.

Jones has been a civil rights activist for over 40 years, and he is depicted as one of the main characters in ABC's miniseries "When We Rise."

His experience as a teenager was similar to that of many LGBTQ people at that time. The American Psychiatric Association considered homosexuality an "illness" until 1973, and throughout the 1950s and '60s, members of the LGBTQ community risked psychiatric lockup or jail if they were "discovered." They could also be fired from their jobs or lose custody of their children. Bullying and violence was also a common threat they faced.

In the show, Jones' character reads about the burgeoning gay liberation movement in Life magazine and is inspired to seek out the movement. Jones recalls that moment vividly from his own life.

Cleve sees the 1971 Life magazine with an article about the gay liberation movement in the ABC miniseries "When We Rise." Screenshot used with permission.

"This magazine, in a matter of minutes, revealed to me that there were other people like me," Jones said in an NPR interview. "There was a community, and there were places we could live safely. And one of those places was called San Francisco."

So, Jones hitchhiked from Arizona to San Francisco in 1973 to start his new life.

Cleve leaves his family behind in Phoenix to move to San Francisco in the ABC miniseries "When We Rise." Screenshot used with permission.

Many LGBTQ people who moved out of red states to cities in blue states in the '60s and '70s helped shape those cities into the same-sex safe havens that we know them to be today.

Cities like San Francisco and New York were seen as places where the LGBTQ community could go to live as themselves and escape some of the oppression, discrimination, and violence they faced back home.

The 1979 Gay Freedom Day Parade and Celebration in front of San Francisco City Hall, which marked the 10th anniversary of the gay rights movement. Photo by Paul Sakuma/AP Photo.

Starting with the Stonewall Riots in 1969, the burgeoning gay rights movement grew inside the cities in places such as the Castro district of San Francisco. There, groups mobilized and spearheaded the fight for their rights over the next several decades.

By 1990, the LGBTQ population was largely concentrated in coastal safe-haven cities, including Seattle, Atlanta, Boston, Washington, D.C., and, of course, New York and San Francisco.

The 46th annual Gay Pride March on June 26, 2016, in New York City. Photo by Bryan R. Smith/AFP/Getty Images.

Today, that trend may be reversing; members of the LGBTQ community are actually leaving those places and moving to smaller, redder cities.

Consumer Affairs analyzed U.S. Census data and Gallup polling information and found that by 2014, large LGBTQ populations had cropped up in red-state cities, including Salt Lake City, Louisville, Norfolk, and Indianapolis. For example, in 1990, only 1% of the Salt Lake City population identified as LGBTQ, but by 2014, that number had grown to 5% — making it the seventh largest LGBTQ urban population in the country.

Economics plays a large role in the trend; the cost to live in many safe-haven cities has skyrocketed. For example, the cost of living in New York City rose by 23% in just five years between 2009 and 2014 while in San Francisco, the median rent price was nearing $4,500 by 2016.  

Meanwhile, numerous smaller cities in red states, including Salt Lake City and Indianapolis, offer shorter commutes, cheaper rent, and less competition for the good-paying jobs.

A pride flag flies in front of the Historic Mormon Temple as part of an LGBTQ protest in Salt Lake City, Utah. Photo by George Frey/Getty Images.

Progress on LGBTQ issues across the country is another reason for the exodus.

There have been a number of federal actions over the last 15 years to solidify equal rights, including President Barack Obama’s executive order protecting LGBTQ federal workers from discrimination and federal and Supreme Court actions that effectively legalized same-sex marriage across a number of red states, including Arizona, Utah, and Indiana. Several cities have also passed local laws protecting the LGBTQ community, including housing and employment protections and benefits for domestic partners of city employees.

A mother to two lesbian daughters holds a sign while watching the Gay Pride Parade on June 28, 2015, in New York City. Photo by Yana Paskova/Getty Images.

Of course, there's a long way to go — many cities are hotbeds for legal challenges to LGBTQ rights, and 28 states in the U.S. still lack LGBTQ employment discrimination protections.

Rick Scot moved from West Hollywood and bought a house in a suburb of North Carolina with his husband because of cost. But North Carolina is also the birthplace of a controversial law — House Bill 2 — that prevents cities from enacting their own anti-discrimination laws and restricted transgender bathroom access statewide. The law has yet to be successfully repealed.

"I have friends and colleagues who won’t come here," Scot told the L.A. Times.

For some in the LGBTQ community, living in a red state also offers the opportunity to be involved in bringing about real change at a local level.

Protesters in City Creek Park in Salt Lake City in 2015. Photo by George Frey/Getty Images.

New York City and San Francisco didn’t become gay-friendly cities overnight. Change was gradual and hard-fought — and it happened largely because the activists who lived there demanded it.

That's why in the ABC limited series “When We Rise,” Cleve Jones decides to stay put and fight for gay rights in San Francisco rather than go off to Europe to find a better home with his friend.

Roma and Cleve in the ABC miniseries, "When We Rise." Screenshot used with permission.

And today, LGBTQ activists have the opportunity to drive change in red-state cities that have less friendly laws. Some activists are even calling these cities "the new frontier."

That is why Tyler Curry, who calls himself a "blue-ribbon homosexual in a bright red state," has chosen to stay and live Texas — so that he can help bring about change for everyone. "People’s minds can be changed and victories can be won in each state government, no matter how difficult it may seem," Curry wrote in an editorial on the Advocate. "Twenty years ago, the state and federal rights that we now have were merely pipe dreams, but our community refused to let hate beat out hope."

He continued, "Today, we still need to be steadfast in our commitment to LGBT rights across the country, and that means staying put in our red states and demanding respect."

Watch the full trailer for ABC's "When We Rise," which begins Feb. 27 at 9 p.m. Eastern/8 p.m. Central:

From Your Site Articles
More

Discouraged by politics? You should check out the revolution happening in Iceland.

Iceland's newest political party — the Pirate Party — is proof that peaceful political revolutions might just be possible.

On Oct. 29, 2016, Iceland held a historic parliamentary election, and the results were pretty indicative of the political turmoil rocking Iceland right now. The ruling Progressive Party lost more than half of its seats in the election, which was sparked by anti-government protests earlier this year after Iceland Prime Minister Sigmundur David Gunnlaugsson resigned for being implicated in the Panama Papers.

Former Prime Minister Sigmundur Gunnlaugsson. Photo by Halldoor Kolbeins/AFP/Getty Images.

After so much government corruption was exposed, Iceland's citizens were understandably angry. They yearned for a new type of politician.

That's when the music swelled, the winds changed, and some swashbuckling pirates came swooping in. OK, not those kinds of pirates, but they did have a black flag.

He kind of looks like a pirate, right? Photo by Adam Berry/Getty Images.

The Pirate Party is a group of political activists who are turning Iceland's anger and distrust of the government into real political change.

The party's humble origin stems from Sweden, where it was originally established to protest Swedish file-sharing and copyright laws. The name of the party comes from a Swedish torrenting site called "The Pirate Bay," where people could illegally download movies, music, and a host of other files they might want to get their hands on.

The Pirate Party exists officially in over 60 countries with dozens elected to government positions. As of Iceland's October election, the Pirate Party holds 10 out of 63 seats in Iceland's parliament. The other big winner of the election was women — who won a record 30 parliament seats (more than any single party).

The Pirate Party is being called radical, but really they're just frustrated voters who wanted to see some change in their political system.

The group is a legitimate political party with candidates running for (and winning) real elections around the world with platforms of government transparency and increased participation in democracy.

In Iceland, they also want to end the war on drugs, put more gender identity options on government documents, cut the gender pay gap, and increase privacy.

The pirates are young, new, and here to disrupt the system, but they're not interested in mask-wearing Mr. Robot-style hacktivism. The pirates have decided that the best way to change a system they don't like is by getting involved in it.

Their approach to politics is, well, political. There's a system in place, and the Pirate Party has chosen to work within it instead of yelling at it.

The Panama Papers, more than anything, created anger and distrust in Iceland. We've seen similar feelings in the United States this year, along with a rise of non-business-as-usual candidates like Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders.

There are a lot of Americans who feel disenfranchised, misled, and cheated by their government. Just like people in Iceland, Americans are angry and yearn for sweeping change.

The Pirates are taking that anger and using it as motivation for a real grassroots political revolution. They're not trying to elect a radical leader who will change everything for them; they're building their own political party based on their interests from the ground up.

Iceland Pirate Party founder Birgitta Jónsdóttir and fellow activists reacting to the election results. Photo by Halldoor Kolbeins/AFP/Getty Images.

Political revolution doesn't happen overnight, and it doesn't happen with a single election. It's a slow, steady climb.

Whether the Pirate Party can accomplish everything it wants remains to be seen, but its growing success is a reminder that our hunger to change everything can be used to work with the system instead of just being aimlessly angry about it or seeking to burn the whole thing to the ground to start over. Democracy tends to work best when we're all active, motivated, and participating.

As Margaret Mead famously said: "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has."

Trending Stories