From Survival to Ecosystem: Saying Goodbye to our Trailer

I’m not one to hoard things. If anything, I’m far more about circulation than accumulation.

And yet — it’s funny how we become attached to certain inanimate things.

I realised this reflecting on the decision to sell our trailer.

If you haven’t heard of Mari Kondo — her approach to mindful space and de-cluttering resonates deeply with me. Even as a kid, I felt we had a relationship with all things — animate and inanimate.

I was the child who thanked a good house for keeping us safe.

I’ve always liked looking after my things — not from OCD, but from care.

I felt they worked better and felt better when they were neat, nurtured, rested, and well looked after.

I was the kid who unpacked and reset her school bag every evening because I felt how exhausting it would be to remain stuffed and overloaded day after day without pause.

I was also the kid who refused to knot clean socks together. I always felt the weave in the socks had already worked hard enough carrying me around all day — the last thing I’d want, if I were a sock, was to “rest” all twisted and knotted up. So I gently folded them instead.

And all things in my house have always had a designated "home" for the item to return to and "rest".

Mari Kondo speaks about energy flow, and how things like being used for the purpose they were intended.

I’ve always understood that instinctively.

And so, realising we had probably only used this trailer once in the last 18 months, I knew it was time to let it go.

So why the sadness?

Because the sadness isn’t really about “a trailer.”

It’s about what the trailer represented.

That trailer was part of:

• the big move from Canberra

• the leap into a completely different life

• the survival years post-separation

• the rebuilding years

• the endless tip runs

• the hauling, clearing, rebuilding

• the chicken coops

• the furniture moved, recycled, acquired

• rebuilding an entire existence

It became part of the machinery of: “we’re doing this ourselves.”

And the girls and I really have done it ourselves since 2021 — especially these last two years.

So selling it feels emotionally strange because somewhere subconsciously, it registers almost like:

“That chapter is ending.”

I realised this trailer formed part of our survival infrastructure — and now I am releasing it.

Not because it failed us.

But because its role is complete.

This trailer genuinely served us.

Reliably.

It physically helped move an entire family and identity from one life into another.

And now?

Its natural state is movement and utility.

Not sitting unused, slowly weathering in the rain.

So there is integrity in releasing it while it is still:

• functional

• valuable

• wanted

• useful to somebody else

And interestingly, this feels symbolic of what SATORI EARTH itself is becoming.

Not: accumulation.

But: circulation.

Energy.

People.

Resources.

Creation.

Exchange.

Beauty.

Movement.

This acreage is slowly shifting from:“trauma bunker + reconstruction site”

…into:

an intentional ecosystem.

And that transition is emotional because survival structures often become fused with identity.

Especially after years where:• every object had a purpose• every dollar mattered• every tool represented capability• every system represented safety

So yes —

today I am thanking this trailer.

Genuinely.

And letting it continue its journey elsewhere, while I continue mine.