Possessions are usually diminished by possession. –Nietzsche
I don't need all of the stuff I have. The stuff has been slowly driving me crazy. I open a closet to put away a hanger and it all stares at me. Waiting for it's turn to be used. To live up to it's own expectations. Pleading for purpose. My daughter's room is crowded with things. Barbies that were coveted for months on shelves in stores are now cast-off to the bottom of a basket or bucket. I stuff shirts on top of shirts on top of shirts inside my husband's dresser drawers and every time wonder what would happen if I dug deep and pulled out one thing from the bottom and took it away. Would he notice? Would it be missed?
I sometimes fantasize about putting things on the driveway for the junk fairy to come and take away. Or promise myself that next week I'll post a photo of that exercise bike on craigslist. It overwhelms me. The garage is full of shit. A garage sale would practically be me moving my car to the street and putting little orange tags on everything inside it.
That's an exaggeration. We need at least two of the screwdrivers in there. And the lawn mower.
But truly, I've come to the realization that the things I was once convinced I needed are what make me feel empty today. Purchases made with the intent to make life easier suddenly complicate things when lost in a drawer or rendered obsolete. They mostly mean nothing. The special things are where I find myself. Where I find others. Memories are nestled in corners of cupboards and tucked inside drawers, but they are crowded and diminished by the crap we collect in fleeting moments of impulsiveness and frivolity.
Maybe it's because I've been using my hands to make things more these days that I have become tired of the rest. Cookies that don't come in a bag taste better and turning a pillow cover fashioned with my own two hands looks better on the chair than the others. I handed over my own creations at a birthday party this weekend.
"These are for you from me. From my heart. And my hands."
Those are the types of things I want to have. The types of things I want to give. They scream vehemence and mean more than what a television commercial can explain in thirty seconds. There's this growing desire I have to make more and do more and know more. And it means making room. Room to move and room to breathe. I can't wrap my head around it all right now. I just know it's in there. This need to leave things behind. To take my family outside and find the world again. To show my children how to laugh with reckless abandon and love without parameters.
I need simple. So I can think.
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