[Let's imagine I could find an image relevant to all I'm about to say...]
Okay, can I just get real and honest with you all for a moment? Promise I won't make it a habit.
Minimalism as a lifestyle is so freeing; and so far I kind of suck at it. It's like the idea of letting go of things makes me want to hold on to them more; and at some moments i look like more of a hoarder than I was at the beginning of this project. I get all gassed up to get rid of things and then, when actually faced with the task, I feel like my heart is going to explode in a fit of panic. Like, what is this? Really? I want a more simple life, I really do, but I wonder if I'm strong enough to give it to myself. Everything means something. I see the hope I had once upon a time when I bought or received the thing; whatever it is. I knew what I was going to do with it and where in my home it was going to live. I became anxious at the thought of giving up another thing, because 'haven't you lost enough' says my mind. So dramatic, right? I mean I do a pretty good job of diminishing the last eight months of my life to a casual shrug and a conversational footnote, if I do say so myself. The reality, however, is that when I really allow myself to think about the happenings and feel whatever emotion is appropriate for the 'occasion' I can only say that the peace I feel in spite of the circumstances is evidence enough that God is real, and, for whatever reason, my life matters to Him.
Initially, I decided to take on the project of simplifying my life because I just hated not knowing where everything was all of the time. However, this simple project quickly became the makings of a real journey towards healing and re-discovery of a woman I had all but forgotten. I make note of every sensation that occurs when I decide whether or not something is worth keeping and make it a point to push myself just far enough past my comfort zone before calling it quits at the end of each discarding session. I think about my home--the one I lost--and how each and every room still holds evidence that I was there. My mind shifts back and forth from how good it felt to trust my environment and my partner, to how overwhelming it was to determine what I could reasonably move out of the house in the three hours I was given to load up a u-haul that was entirely too small to hold all the things I had acquired in ten years of living on my own. I imagine that's exactly how it feels to lose things in a fire, but in slow motion: In your mind each room will always exist the way it once did, just as we remember a loved one we may have lost.
I sometimes fight back the longings I have for each and every thing I had to leave behind--and work to rationalize why they couldn't make it out 'alive'. I tell myself that 'if those things were the price you had to pay to spare your life, wasn't it worth it?' But it doesn't always help to see it that way. You see, there was no fire, and those things that I worked hard to acquire in my years as a single woman still live there; longing for me to greet them. Instead of bringing me joy, they watch over an inhabitant that will never truly appreciate their real value.
At first the thought made me livid; but then it dawned on me: I may have given up several material possessions, but what I gained in the process was worth far more than any amount of money I spent on those things. I may not have the curtains I love, but my smile came back. And I may have lost thousands of dollars worth of clothes, books, home decor and kitchen conveniences, but I've laughed more than I've cried for the first time in years and the skills that brought me so much joy throughout my life are being restored and strengthened more each day. There can be no value placed on a good night's rest, or a peaceful morning and nothing sold in any store could ever equate to the excitement I feel knowing that I have space in my heart and mind to be the kind of mother my son deserves.
Every choice I make everyday to get rid of something else feels like a silent celebration of the woman I'm becoming. It's also evidence that I'm consciously choosing to keep the pieces of my life that matter so much more; and I am constantly aware that my choice to succeed also becomes part of my son's story. We are more than the things that surround us, and no amount of coveting and greed will fill the void that is reserved for something bigger than ourselves. For me, it's God; and the more I surrender to this process of purging I continue along this journey of minimizing not only my stuff, but also my fears, anxieties, insecurities, emotional baggage and bad habits. You can, indeed, begin again. We all have a story to tell. While it wasn't in my plan to be a single mother or start my life over from the middle of what felt like someone else's story, this has been an incredible opportunity to discover exactly what I'm made of. Use every new life road to explore what breaks you and what builds you up. Armed with the power of your choices, you can decide what direction your life can take. Are you choosing what matters most to you?
xo, august & pepper
Thanks for sharing . Read this when you get a moment.
ReplyDeletehttp://www.theminimalists.com/sentimental/
That’s when I realized that my retention efforts were futile. I could hold on to her memories without her stuff, just as she had always remembered me and my childhood and all our memories without ever accessing those sealed boxes under her bed. She didn’t need papers from twenty-five years ago to remember me, just as I didn’t need a storage locker filled with her stuff to remember her.