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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.

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Pop Culture

Emma Thompson's witty, heartfelt tribute to Alan Rickman is one for the ages

May we all have a friend who shares our quirks this lovingly and articulately.

Photo credits: Elena Ternovaja (left), Marie-Lan Nguyen (right)

Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman starred in seven films together.

Actor Alan Rickman gave us so many memorable characters, from the terrorist Hans Gruber in "Die Hard" to the evil hero Severus Snape in "Harry Potter" to the unfaithful husband who broke Emma Thompson's heart in "Love Actually." 

Though he was often cast as a villain, Rickman's distinctive voice and irresistable screen presence made audiences love him. He brought a unique human touch even to his most odious bad guy characters, a quality that makes perfect sense when you hear Thompson, his friend and co-star in seven films, talk about his character in real life.

In a moving tribute upon the release of his diaries, Thompson shared insights into the virtues and quirks that made Rickman "blissfully contradictory."

Thompson is at the top of her award-winning writer game here, and her words about Alan Rickman are filled with heart, wit, respect, admiration and love. It's truly a eulogy for the ages.

Watch (or read the full transcript below):

- YouTubewww.youtube.com

People love Thompson's tribute to her friend and some have even shared their own stories of their encounters with Alan Rickman:

"A close friend of mine bumped into him in a theatre in London many years ago. My friend instantly recognised Mr Rickman and from nowhere, instantly found the courage to ask him for his autograph. Having neither pen nor paper for this, he asked Mr Rickman if he would mind waiting a moment whilst he collected the items from somewhere, anywhere! The moment became at least 10 minutes or so, and when my friend ran back to a now empty theatre foyer, he noticed one solitary figure. Mr Rickman had waited patiently for my friend to give him what he asked for."

"I was lucky enough to work with him on a film. At lunchtime I joined the line for a meal and as I payed and went to turn to look for a table, someone knocked into me from behind and my drink went flying. I turned and it was Alan, he apologized put his hand on my shoulder and said let me get you another. He came back with a cup of tea and I was so overwhelmed. I was shocked how he was so down to earth and a real gentleman."

"I meet him once in Boots and said hello, he realised it was a reflex to recognising a known face. He picked up an item we both were looking at, smiled and said “well hello there are we going to arm wrestle for this?” That deep tone rendered me mute, I realised it was Mr Rickman and instantly denied needing this forgotten thing, apologised for well nothing really, smiled and backed away. He was a giant of a fellow on and off the stage and will be missed."

"Everything she said is true. I was fortunate to have dinner with him and his wife and his drama teacher. He was charming and friendly and shared some great ideas about directing, which I use today in my theater group. He is missed by many."

Indeed he is.

Here's the full transcript of Thompson's tribute:

"The most remarkable thing about the first days after Alan died was the number of actors, poets, musicians, playwrights and directors who wanted to express their gratitude for all the help he'd given them. I don't think I know anyone in this business who has championed more aspiring artists nor unerringly perceived so many great ones before they became great. Quite a number said, latterly, that they'd been too shy to thank him personally. They had found it hard to approach him. And of all the contradictions in my blissfully contradictory friend (hold on, Thompson), this is perhaps the greatest this combination of profoundly nurturing and imperturbably distant.

He was not, of course, distant. He was alarmingly present at all times the inscrutability was partly a protective shield. If anyone did approach him with anything like gratitude or even just a question, they would be greeted with a depth of sweetness that no one who didn't know him could even guess at. And he was not, of course, unflappable. I could flap him like nobody's business and when I did he was fierce with me and it did me no end of good.

He was generous and challenging, dangerous and comical, sexy and androgynous, virile and peculiar, temperamental and languid, fastidious and casual, the list could go on. I'm sure you can add to it. There was something of the sage about him, and had he had more confidence and been at all corruptible, he could probably have started his own religion.

His taste in all things from sausages to furnishings appeared to me anyway to be impeccable. His generosity of spirit was unsurpassed and he had so much time for people I used to wonder if he ever slept or ever got time for himself. A word not traditionally associated with Alan is gleeful, but when he was genuinely amused he was absolutely the essence of glee. There would be a holding back as the moment built, and then a sudden leaning forward and a swinging around of the torso as a vast, impish grin flowered, sometimes accompanied by an inarticulate shout of laughter. It was almost as if he was surprised by himself. It was my life's mission to provide those moments. I remember Imelda Staunton nearly killing him by telling him a story about my mother and an unfortunate incident with some hashish—it's a really good story, I won't tell it now—I've never seen him laugh more before or since. It was a bit like watching someone tickling the Sphinx.

One Christmas Eve party I had a sprig of mistletoe hanging up at home, and I was loitering under it and turned to find Alan bearing down on me. I lifted up my chin hopefully. He smiled and approached. I puckered. He leaned in under the mistletoe and a sudden change came over his face. His eyes started to glitter and his nostrils to quiver. He lifted up a hand, reached in, and pulled a longish hair out of my chin. 'Ow!' I said. 'That's an incipient beard,' he said, handing me the hair and walking off.

That was the thing about Alan—you never knew if you were going to be kissed or unsettled, but you couldn't wait to see what would come next. And the trouble with death is that there is no next. There's only what was, and for that, I am profoundly and heartbrokenly grateful. So the last thing we did together was change a plug on a standard lamp in his hospital room. The task went the same way as everything we have ever done together. I had a go. He told me to try something else. I tried. It didn't work, so he had a go. I got impatient. I took it from him. I tried it again. It still wasn't right. We both got slightly irritable, then he patiently took it all apart again and got the right lead into the right hole. I screwed it in with a screwdriver. We complained about how fiddly it was, and then we had a cup of tea. Took us at least half an hour, this thing, and he said after, 'Well it's a good thing I decided not to become an electrician.'

I'm still heartbroken that Alan's gone, but these diaries bring back so much of what I remember of him. There is that sweetness I mentioned, his generosity, his champion of others, his fierce, critical eye, his intelligence, his humor. He was the ultimate ally in life, art, and politics. I trusted him absolutely. He was, above all things, a rare and unique human being and we shall not see his like again."


This article originally appeared last year.
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Joy

Facing a tiebreaker, Olympians asked if they could share a gold medal. Pure joy ensued.

@peacockTV/Twitter

Qatar's Mutaz Essa Barshim and Italy's Gianmarco Tamberi celebrate sharing the gold medal in high jump.

At the 2020 Tokyo Olympics when Qatar's Mutaz Essa Barshim and Italy's Gianmarco Tamberi both landed their high jumps at 2.37 meters, they were in the battle for Olympic gold. But when both jumpers missed the next mark—the Olympic record of 2.39 meters—three times each, they were officially tied for first place.

In such a tie, the athletes would usually do a "jump-off" to determine who wins gold and who wins silver. But as the official began to explain the options to Barshim and Tamberi, Barshim asked, "Can we have two golds?"

"It's possible," the official responded. "It depends, if you both decide..." And before he'd even told them how sharing the gold would work, the two jumpers looked at each other, nodded, and then launched into a wholesome and joyful celebration guaranteed to bring a smile to your face.

Just watch:

(If you are unable to view the video above, check it out on NBC's YouTube channel here.)

The two jumpers have been competing against one another for more than a decade and are friends on and off the field, so getting to share the gold is a win-win—literally—for both of them. It's also a historic choice. According to the BBC, the last time competing track and field Olympians shared the gold medal podium was in 1912 during the Stockholm Summer Games.

The friendship and camaraderie between the two athletes are palpable and their immediate decision to share the gold truly embodies the Olympic spirit.

"I look at him, he looks at me, and we know it," Barshim said, according to the CBC. "We just look at each other and we know, that is it, it is done. There is no need."

"He is one of my best friends," he added, "not only on the track, but outside the track. We work together. This is a dream come true. It is the true spirit, the sportsman spirit, and we are here delivering this message."

Barshim was the silver medalist in the event in the Rio 2016 Olympics, and Tamberi suffered a career-threatening injury prior to those games, which took him out of medal contention.

"After my injuries, I just wanted to come back," Tamberi told CNN. "But now I have this gold, it's incredible. I dreamed of this so many times. I was told in 2016 just before Rio, there was a risk I wouldn't be able to compete anymore. It's been a long journey."

What a beautiful display of sportsmanship, excellence, and genuine human connection. This is what the Olympics are all about.


This article originally appeared four years ago.

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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. Jimmy Dunne shared that reflection on Facebook in a since deleted viral post that resonaed with many people who are at or near this stage in life.

man and woman standing beside fence during daytimePhoto by Caspar Rae on Unsplash

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."

man kissing woman on check beside body of waterPhoto by Esther Ann on Unsplash

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.

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.


This article originally appeared four years ago.

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