What Hangs On
We cleaned out the garage yesterday evening to make room for the newly boxed-up hand-me-downs, and I discovered something about myself as I looked around at what we own; what hangs on to us is utterly practical in nature, if I have any say in the matter, strollers that we'll use for the next baby, clothes to pass down to the next kid, cleaning supplies I bought too much of at Costco. And if it’s not practical, then it found its sentimental grip on my husband, like his letterman jacket or an ornate tea set he picked up during one of his mission trips to India.
In the process of combing through the stored mess, I realized something about myself that I can say with absolute surety: I will never inherit a large fortune from some hidden treasure left in my keeping over the years. When it comes to saving anything, consider me a spend thrift. Not that I’m prone to spending sprees, just that I don’t save anything for any length of time; it tends to leave my possession in short order, and therefore, things don't become antiques in my home. I think it’s my tendency to prioritize space wherever I happen to be. Space is soothing to me; it clears the fogginess in my cluttered brain, just as it does my home.
I think it’s my understanding that when I was knit together in my mother’s womb and popped out into this cluttered world, I came with nothing, just the skin on my back; maybe I’m attempting to leave this place in the same condition I entered it, empty-handed. After all, you can’t take anything with you, so why make everyone else do something with the heap of nothing you currently own after you’ve gone? I figure I’ll help my children out now by continually leafing through my junk and sporadically shoving stuff off the edge of the canyon, let it go to someone else who appreciates chaos.
It’s incredibly freeing to be rid of the baggage that claims a large portion of one’s space. I think freedom is more important than great wealth, which is why I probably will never be the executor of some large undiscovered fortune unknowingly hidden away in my limited storage space, some priceless antique that has held onto me throughout my life. It might try holding on, but my grip is rather loose.
In the process of combing through the stored mess, I realized something about myself that I can say with absolute surety: I will never inherit a large fortune from some hidden treasure left in my keeping over the years. When it comes to saving anything, consider me a spend thrift. Not that I’m prone to spending sprees, just that I don’t save anything for any length of time; it tends to leave my possession in short order, and therefore, things don't become antiques in my home. I think it’s my tendency to prioritize space wherever I happen to be. Space is soothing to me; it clears the fogginess in my cluttered brain, just as it does my home.
I think it’s my understanding that when I was knit together in my mother’s womb and popped out into this cluttered world, I came with nothing, just the skin on my back; maybe I’m attempting to leave this place in the same condition I entered it, empty-handed. After all, you can’t take anything with you, so why make everyone else do something with the heap of nothing you currently own after you’ve gone? I figure I’ll help my children out now by continually leafing through my junk and sporadically shoving stuff off the edge of the canyon, let it go to someone else who appreciates chaos.
It’s incredibly freeing to be rid of the baggage that claims a large portion of one’s space. I think freedom is more important than great wealth, which is why I probably will never be the executor of some large undiscovered fortune unknowingly hidden away in my limited storage space, some priceless antique that has held onto me throughout my life. It might try holding on, but my grip is rather loose.
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