My boss once told me one of my strengths was being decisive.

When it came to work, that was always true. But it didn’t apply to everything.

I was always financially conservative and was careful about spending money. That was especially true when retirement was near.

I remember finding a coat I wanted to buy but I stood there staring at it for the longest time, indecisive about whether I should spend the money.

In the long run, I made the right decision about not buying it. We seldom if ever need a coat in Florida.

If only all decisions were as easy as not buying a coat.

I told you last week about my problem in deciding whether to leave my house and move to a senior center.

I kept praying for wisdom to make the right decision.

Then, one day, just like that, after long talks with my husband I decided to go for it. We are moving to South Port.

No one knows what the future holds. We can only hope that someday we will say, ahhhh, we made the right decision. But let me be honest. There will be a lot of emotional pain before we get to that point.

The very act of moving has more problems than I ever anticipated.

There is so much physical work in the process of getting ready to move.

And talk about the need for constant decisions. When you are moving from a home with lots of space to a place that has next to none, you have to be very judicious about what to take with you and what has to go.

Because we lost so much in the hurricanes I didn’t think I had too much stuff. And since I lost much of my clothing in the hurricanes I didn’t think my problem was in having too much.

Wrong.

I have two very big walk-in closets in my home and tons of storage space in the kitchen, pantry and garage.

When we went for a tour of South Port we were warned not to expect much “space.”

Whittling down was painful. Very painful. I could not have done it without my daughter Andrea’s forcing me to accept reality.

“No, you cannot have your two sets of dishes,” she said. Pick one. There wasn’t even room for one set. I had to take just a few pieces, not the whole set of dishes.

“You’ll be eating in the dining room and you won’t be doing much cooking, so you won’t need all your dishes and pots and pans,” Andrea said.

I had to be selective about everything.

When I moved from Pennsylvania to Florida I did it the easy way. I only took what could fit in my small SUV. That meant the furniture I loved had to be left behind. My girlfriend warned me it would cost more for a moving van to move that distance than it would to buy new furniture in Florida.

I called two local charities and they came with two trucks. I was ever so grateful when my co-worker Adele did a superb job taking things to needy families. It made me feel good about leaving it all behind.

Because I showed up in Florida with next to nothing, I didn’t think I had accumulated so much that would have to go now. Well, I managed to accumulate a lot in 21 years.

Honestly, as I watched pieces of my life disappear, I thought it was a little like dying. My “old me” is certainly going to be gone.

I carefully and lovingly brought nautical pieces that graced the shelves in my Rotonda West living room. When people came to visit they often commented about the attractive nautical display. Each piece had an interesting history and had personal meaning to me.

It wasn’t just stuff.

The wooden clock from my father was the first present he ever gave me. The little bluebird from my mother was the very first thing I bought her when I started working.

See. There’s a story with each piece, and I don’t want to part with it. But there will be no shelves or display area in my new apartment and it all has to go. I made Andrea take care of it because it hurt too much to see what I valued carried away.

I couldn’t tell myself “it’s just stuff” because it wasn’t.

The hardest thing I had to leave behind were the family pictures. When I moved to Florida I only took the most precious photos. Again, I can’t do it. I’m leaving them for my two daughters to decide what they want. Meanwhile, I’ve had to limit myself to one photo of each of my loved ones.

Oh, moving is painful when it means this kind of paring down.

My friends tell me it will soon be over and then much of the stress will be gone.

But I sure do understand why people who move say they don’t want to do it again.

I am in awe of people who manage to live without many possessions. Does that mean for them a move is easier?

One thing is certain: I never met anyone who moved and then said, “Oh, I can’t wait to do it again.”

Email Pattie Mihalik at newsgirl@comcast.net