Stuff!

You  may have noticed that I am looking a bit thinner these days. You see, in the last few months I've lost close to 1500 pounds... of things, that is. You'd think that getting rid of nearly a ton of stuff would make a remarkable and significant difference in the appearance and functionality of our home. Alas, that is not quite the case. In fact, I'm sad to say that there are still piles on many of the flat surfaces, way too many clothes and toys, and a garage full of mysterious items with dubious histories and even more questionable futures. (Just how did a family of five end up with eight broken bikes, and what made us think they were all worth saving?) But, I'm making progress.


I come from a long line of packrats. (Sort of a disturbing mental image when you picture it literally - isn't it?) My paternal grandmother lived through the Great Depression, and saved things because of a real and rational fear of having to go without.  My grandfather on the other side was a farm kid, and knew the value of a bit of twine or a length of wire in a pinch. I think it's fair to say that the sound logic behind the saving has gotten weaker with each passing generation, though the desire to collect has not. Granted - everyone in my family manages our possessions with enough order and organization to ensure that they don't become a real problem in our lives. However, I sometimes have to ask myself whether I am the possessor or the possessed.

A dear loved one recently passed away. Long after she had settled her accounts, had her say,and  made her peace, she had one last burden that she couldn't seem to shake. With a heavy sigh late one night, she made me promise that I would help go through her home after she passed because she was worried that people would judge her harshly for all of the things that she had. I have never looked at my 'stuff' the same way since.


In a way, it was frightening to think that someone's last worries on earth would be about something so trivial. But, if I'm really honest with myself, I must admit that that's probably what I would worry about in that situation as well.  I sensed more deeply in that moment than ever before that stuff can be a blessing, or stuff can be a curse. It's all in the way you look at it. It was an amazingly liberating experience.

Since then, I've had a different perspective. I supposed it's possible that one of those broken bikes in the garage might be worth fixing (old me), but I can guarantee that not a single one of them is worth worrying over (new me). So, I got rid of them. I got rid of things I thought I could use, things I thought I might use, things I thought I would use, and even things I thought were way too special and sentimental to ever be used. And, boy - did it feel great! Around our house, we've started calling it "getting flexible". I've heard some call it lightening the load, de-cluttering, de-junking, letting go, giving up, and even getting free.Whatever you call it, I'm just glad that I'm the one who possesses my stuff these days, and am determined to never again let it possess me.