Estate Sales & Swedish Death Cleaning

I go through dead people’s things now. I mean, I started attending estate sales.

I’ve avoided them for years, assuming the prices were too steep and that I could find the same vintage gear on eBay without the hassle. But then I learned a little secret: on the final day, coordinators slash prices by 50% or more. Suddenly, treasures were priced like a neighborhood yard sale. Sure, the crowds can be overwhelming and the pickings slim, but the thrill of the hunt made up for it. Of course the occasional grandma would get in my way and snag that sweet sweet PYREX dish. “No worries!” I’d say with a smile, all the while knowing I’ll just get it from her estate sale in a couple months. 

Like a colony of disciplined worker ants, we lined up in the scorching summer heat, ready to march inside and carry off vintage Pyrex, power tools, and box loads of someone else’s memories.

The addiction truly took hold after a bizarre twist of fate. I’d spotted a sale on a Friday and decided to head back Saturday morning for the half-off discount. Driving down the block, I couldn't find the house. No neon poster-board signs, no cars lining the curb, nothing. I was just about to check myself into a clinic for hallucinating entire residential events when I spotted a woman hauling a heavy cardboard box to a pickup truck. It was the exact front porch I’d walked onto the day before.

I pulled over and asked if there had been a sale there yesterday, desperate for confirmation of my sanity. She walked over, unlit cigarette in hand, smiled and said yes. She then very kindly invited me inside to look at the leftovers. I jumped at the chance, and as it turns out she ready to make deals on the remaining items. We became fast friends, and now I look forward to seeing her when she organizes another sale. My new friend had become the unlooked for treasure on my summer of discovery.

It was at one of her sales a few weeks later that reality hit me. I was standing in a dimly lit bedroom, flipping through a rack of a deceased gentleman’s neckties. They were vintage mid-century modern, which surprise to no one, are back in style. That’s when an epiphany struck so hard I had to sit down right on the edge of a mattress with a delightfully crocheted blanket: I was just curating my own future estate sale.

What was I doing? The very objects bringing me a spark of joy today were destined to become a burden for my loved ones tomorrow. The next few days were a blur of existential reflection on mortality and the sheer volume of material goods we leave in our wake. I wasn't about to give up the hunt entirely, deals were still to be struck after all, but I needed balance. And if you’re wondering, yes I bought the tie.

Enter Swedish Death Cleaning (döstädning). Despite its rather ominous name, the idea is surprisingly practical. The basic concept is to thoughtfully go through your possessions while you are still alive and decide what is worth keeping, what can be given away and what no longer needs to occupy space in your life. Or someone else's after you inevitable kick the proverbial bucket.

Though I plan on sticking around for several more decades, I’ve realized the value of holding onto physical things a little more loosely. I’m learning to curate my life with intent. Though I’ll gladly go through your grandfather's tool chest if given half the chance.

This was taken at an actual estate sale and that is actual carpet in the actual bathroom…wild.