The Last Room: Reflections on Wealth, Possessions, and the Journey into Old Age

Life is a journey every one of us must take—The One Room We All End Up In

Introduction: The Journey No One Escapes

Life is a journey every one of us must take—from childhood innocence to adult responsibility, from the pride of labour to the frailty of old age. No matter how far we travel, or how much we acquire along the way, the journey ends with a truth that humbles us all: at the end, we need far less than we thought.

I write these words not as a preacher or philosopher, but as someone preparing to leave behind the familiar walls of my home to enter a nursing home. After decades of work, collection, and living, I find myself face-to-face with the simple reality of human existence.

The Decision to Leave Home

I am going to a nursing home. Not because I want to, but because life leaves me little choice. My children love me, but they are busy with careers, raising their own families, and carrying burdens I cannot add to. My body no longer obeys my will; daily chores that once felt light now exhaust me.

The nursing home is clean, well-maintained, and equipped with what I need: a bed, a sofa, a small kitchen corner, a fridge, and a TV. It is not a palace, but it is safe. My pension is enough to sustain it, and I even have the option of selling my house if more funds are required. My son, wise beyond his years, tells me: “Your wealth belongs first to you; enjoy it. Don’t worry about inheritance.” And so, I begin preparing for this transition with both gratitude and sorrow.

Looking Around at a Lifetime of Possessions

As I pack, I see clearly what my life has become: a house full of objects. Suitcases, boxes, cabinets overflowing. Stamps I collected, pendants of amber and jade, silver cutlery used only once or twice, books I never opened, clothes that no longer fit my frame. The pantry looks like I was feeding a boarding school—rice, pasta, spices, frozen meat. My cellar holds bottles of foreign wine I never drank. I see photo albums—hundreds of them. Faces of parents long gone, siblings now grey-haired, friends scattered across the world. Some of those faces belong to the dead, yet their smiles remain trapped in glossy paper. All this is here. And yet none of it can go with me.

The Poverty of Abundance

As I stand among my belongings, a strange sadness grips me. All these years, I believed these things were mine. But now I see clearly—they were never really mine. They passed through my hands; I enjoyed them, sometimes neglected them, but they never truly belonged to me. Soon, others will sell, discard, or inherit them. The mahogany furniture that I polished with pride will be deemed impractical by younger generations. My books may end up as scrap paper. My clothes and bedding will be carted off in sacks. Even my carefully tended garden will belong to strangers who will eat the apples and enjoy the flowers without ever knowing my name. Like the Forbidden City in Beijing, once the private palace of emperors who thought themselves eternal rulers, now a museum open to the public—so too will my house pass on, indifferent to my memory.

The Lessons of Possessions

It dawns on me that true foolishness is not in working hard, but in confusing possessions with meaning. For decades, I tinkered, saved, decorated, and accumulated. I believed these would secure happiness. But here I am, realizing that happiness was always elsewhere: in shared meals, in laughter, in kindness, in faith, in love.

Possessions can comfort, yes. But they also imprison. They demand time, energy, and attention. They make us slaves to maintenance and fear of loss. And in the end, when we leave this world, they betray us by staying behind.

The One Room We All End Up In

The nursing home offers me one room. At first, this felt like a loss. But on reflection, I see it as liberation. In the end, what do we really need?

One bed to sleep on.

One set of clothes to wear.

One plate of food to eat.

Everything else is excess. The truth is, life has always been about one room. Even in palaces, emperors can only sleep in one bed at a time. Even billionaires can only eat one meal at a time. Why then do we burden ourselves with mountains of things we cannot use?

Reflections for the Over-50s

For those of us past fifty, it is time to think differently about life:

Health over wealth: Without health, gold and silver taste like dust.

Memories over materials: A shared story with your grandchild will outlast the fanciest furniture.

Legacy of values over legacy of things: Better to leave children honesty, compassion, and faith than wardrobes of clothes. As Scripture reminds us: “For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out” (1 Timothy 6:7).

What Truly Matters

So what matters now, at the twilight of life?

• Relationships: Being remembered not for what I owned, but for how I loved.

• Faith and Purpose: Finding peace in God’s plan, knowing I played my small part.

• Simplicity: Living light, unburdened by unnecessary things.

• Gratitude: Counting blessings, not possessions.

The Problem of Letting Go

I confess, letting go is not easy. Every item tells a story. That necklace marked a milestone birthday. That book was a gift from a dear friend. That teapot brewed countless evenings of comfort.

But I also see the futility of clinging. My children do not value stamps, cassettes, or mahogany chairs. These are relics of another era. If I hold on too tightly, I only burden them with decisions and guilt.

So, I choose to keep a few essentials: a small set of pots, a handful of books, a few teapots, my documents, and a bank card. Enough. The rest, I leave to the world.

The Farewell to My House

Before leaving, I kneel at my doorway. Three times I bow, thanking this house for sheltering me. For hosting family meals, tears of grief, and bursts of laughter. For witnessing my growth, my failures, my small triumphs.

And then, I give it back to the world. For the truth is, I never truly owned it.

Broader Lessons for Society

My personal story is also a mirror for our society. In every city across the world, we are locked in endless competition for wealth, status, and material show. Yet how many of our leaders, tycoons, and celebrities discover too late that the riches they fought for cannot follow them into the grave? Many are beginning to learn the wisdom of simplicity, solidarity, and shared values. What if we taught our children early that the worth of a man or woman lies not in cars, mansions, or trinkets, but in service, kindness, and honesty? Wouldn’t our politics be cleaner, our society more peaceful, and our families stronger?

CONCLUSION: Traveling Light

As I prepare for my last chapter, I no longer see my nursing home room as a prison. I see it as freedom. Freedom from clutter. Freedom from illusion. Freedom to focus on what matters most: my health, my peace, my God. I leave you with this thought: When the journey ends, life asks us to travel light.

So, to my friends over fifty, and indeed to every reader, I ask: What do you really need? What burdens can you put down today? What values can you pass on tomorrow?

In the end, we all return our houses, our clothes, our books, and even our bodies to the earth. Only love, faith, and hope remain.

Author: Attributed to anonymous elders, often shared as 'The Last Room' or 'Traveling Light.'