I’ve been purging a lot to prepare for an upcoming move across town.
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| ALL BOOKS |
As we’ve gotten older, The kids (Adam, Sarah, April, Kevin) have moved away and moved on; there has been no need to keep things around hoping they will come back—hoping that we can pass things on to them or the grandkids. They have their own lives; they too are now in the process of accumulating: memories, items from their travels, things passed down, piles of papers, their own children’s drawings and cards, tiny teeth, buttons, and love notes. It all means something in the moment.
Past moves across country, across state, and across town didn’t impact me as much; maybe because I still had so much stuff; it just seemed like I was skimming off the top of all my stuff. “I don’t need 2 sets of Christmas dishes.”
This move came with a set intention that seemed to drop out of nowhere in my mind—become a minimalist. What the hell did that even mean? I had to go look it up.
I found minimalism fascinating, frightening, frustrating, and freeing. I’m on the front end of this minimalist exploration. Rich is all on board; he’s naturally always been a minimalist. If he died, there would be nothing to give away. He gave Adam his bowling ball. Sarah and April his bibles, Kevin probably has something too; I just don’t remember what it is?
Deciding to free myself from so much ‘stuff’ has produced a duel sense of sadness and acceptance.
I am getting older and I know time is limited. Life is short. I had two friends die in one year. I feel increasingly lonely—more than I have ever felt in my life. Friends and family are spread out all over the country. We are all busy. We live in a world where people just text and nobody really connects or calls. You can be sitting with people and they always have a phone in their hand. Or they are off to their next scheduled event; not really making time for you when you show up; you have to fit into their lives. We cheer each other on social media instead of supporting each other in person, in real life. But what is real life in 2020?
We have gotten away from harmony with nature and each other. If we can’t connect with nature and the nature of ourselves, how can we connect with each other? I need to bring more awareness of that to my life; I feel it to the core of my being. I seriously want to go back to a 1975 mindset; we turned in our glass pop bottles for coins to go to the movies because we didn’t have much plastic; mood rings and PEZ candy; we could recall from memory, all our friend’s and families’ phone numbers; we called and talked for hours; we’d spend the day together instead of a quick lunch or dinner; we took long walks together to the ice cream store; we wrote letters; we planned to make special visits and reunions because we missed each other. We made sure people felt cared for and connected. We nurtured relationships over needing to zone or chill out with Netflix.
We need to learn how to re-humanize; I need to learn how to re-humanize my life. I seriously want to take off a year on social media. But I’m not sure I can do that? Because, how will I know what you are all doing otherwise? Social media (while imperfect) is a kind of necessary 21st century community. We don’t walk down the street to our neighbor’s house to chat anymore. We don’t drop in. We drop in on social media to see what’s up with everyone we care about. If I went off social media, who will ever talk to me? It makes me so profoundly sad; it takes my breath away. I would practically disappear into the void of non-existence. Because, truth-be-told, in a pathetic way, social media validates my existence for now. All those I previously knew and loved, would stop commenting or liking or relating. It would be entirely upon my shoulders to maintain any kind of real relationship apart from social media. And that burden is too much to bear all by myself. At least on social media it feels kind of reciprocal. Off social media, it takes work to maintain friendships. People don’t want you to drop over or call. In 1975, it didn’t take that much work. It didn’t take to much work in 1985, 1995. 2005.
With all the stuff in bins and boxes, I’m carrying extra weight emotionally, spiritually, and yeah, probably physically too. I didn’t realize how much I was carrying around until I had to decide to go through it and get rid of it.
Some of those ‘things’ I have collected over the years I took on responsibility for being the keeper of the memories—my grandmother’s memories.
About 15 years ago, she was downsizing; moving from a studio apartment to an even smaller room on the assisted living floor. I came over to help her purge. My grandmother’s apartment was eclectic—filled with classic artwork and inexpensive sentimental treasures from all her travels from all over the world. She loved ALL her things; I loved all her things. But she loved her books most of all.
She sat in a chair and I pulled each book off the shelf one by one. She decided which book would go to me and which book she would keep. She’d tell me, “You have to read this book. It’s a wonderful story. One of my favorites.” I’d smile and tell her I’d read it some day. This went on for about 20 minutes. “You have to read this book. It’s my favorite. It means so much to me. Promise me you’ll read it.” After about the tenth time, I made the mistake of saying, “I can’t promise you that I’ll read this, Gram.” She huffed about how her books mean the world to her and that nobody understands. She was really mad at me. She was mad at my Aunt (her daughter) who wasn’t even in the room. She said something mean and I told her to stop being unfair to my Aunt. She got up and went over to her bed, lay down, and turned her back away from me and cried. Just because I couldn’t promise I’d read all her books? I’m so damn literal. Why couldn’t I just lie to her? I should have.
I had no idea until this move what was going on in her heart; she had to let go of all the things that brought her joy; she couldn’t fit all these special things into her next stage of life. It hurt her deeply. She was mad at me and mad that my Aunt was making her move (she wasn’t). She knew what moving into assisted living meant, and feared this would be her last move.
My Gram had passed on so many of her possessions because she couldn’t carry them with her. I knew how much they meant to her. And because I knew the story behind each book, each statue, each jar, each dish, each framed picture, I carried them. I treasured them for her.
If I had to guess why I’m leaning towards minimalism it’s probably a few things:
I can’t maintain space for it all (kid stuff, grandma stuff, my stuff).
I want to try to consume fewer things that impact the planet (plastic, clothing, food). Wouldn’t you agree we are out of control with consumption of stuff?
The world is on fire or drowning in natural disasters. It affects me. I realize every day people are losing everything they own. I donate money so they can rebuild. I tell myself each time I see it, “Travel light, Kim. That could be you; it’s just stuff.”
I can’t maintain space for it all (kid stuff, grandma stuff, my stuff).
I want to try to consume fewer things that impact the planet (plastic, clothing, food). Wouldn’t you agree we are out of control with consumption of stuff?
The world is on fire or drowning in natural disasters. It affects me. I realize every day people are losing everything they own. I donate money so they can rebuild. I tell myself each time I see it, “Travel light, Kim. That could be you; it’s just stuff.”
I see the world burdened all around me with clutter; we have no room anymore for each other. We’re so busy building castles in the sand. We spend all our time working to pay for stuff. I’m kind tired of all the stuff and how it drives me to indulge or squirrel away things that devalue (just like a car when you drive it off the lot).
While purging, I came across things that embarrassed me that I purchased: clothes with tags on them; I found a brand new professionally fitted $178 French bra. I wore it once because the underwire was so painful after 30 minutes. I didn’t care how much it lifted and separated. It hurt like hell. That was the last time I wore a underwire bra. The truth is, only surgery can fix boobs once you’re in your 40s; that nugget of truth is free. Accept that sooner and all of life gets better!
I was sad that I had nobody to really give away some of my sentimental or valuable things. Who wants a Toot-a-Loop Radio from the 70s that held a story about the first miracle I ever experienced? What about all my political protest buttons and t-shirts? I’ve got jewelry and art (even my own art). Because we don’t live in community or close proximity, or have years of history with friends, I couldn’t say to friends or family, “Come over this Sunday and go through my things. Take whatever you want. I’ll make you dinner.”
I declared to Rich that we we’re gonna be more minimalist. He watched in awe as I tackled each closet and shelf with Maria Kondo commitment. It was painful. I felt so sad as I read old letters from friends and then tossed them. I saved every cork from every bottle of wine I shared with my girl friends. When it came time to purge the books I felt an ache in my soul. Now I know how my Grandmother felt. I wanted to call up Kevin and say, “Hey, I know you don’t meditate right now. But someday you may want to. I’ve got 20 meditation books here for you that really meant a lot to me. I mean, they are really important to me. Promise me someday you’ll read them. Will you take them?” He wouldn’t have wanted them; I never read all the books that my grandmother passed on to me. So I donated them all—twenty-three bags of books between Rich and me.
My grandmother has been gone for 11 years. She would be mortified to know that I gave some of her stuff away to the local Buy Nothing Group (you gift things to people for free). To deal with the guilt, I asked my brothers if they wanted a few things. They did; thank God. I told Rich I felt so responsible carrying all her stuff; even though I loved each thing I had. But it all sent me into an unexpected, inconsolable anguish. I felt like Steve Martin in The Jerk, “All I need is this lamp, this remote control, this chair.” Then I realized I had to get rid of my grandmother’s chair too. I was in a puddle of tears, in a fetal position, crying, mourning all over again. I was seeing her life slowly dissolve. All her stories were attached to her things. If her cherished possessions were gone, would I remember them? Would she cease to exist? And not too far behind her is me; all my things and stories will soon be gone.
With that realization, I still held on to the most special items Gram passed on to me: a candy box, a crystal candy nut dish, a framed Chagall print, a small vase with plastic violets, and all her travel Christmas ornaments from around the world, her Charles Lamb Tales From Shakespeare and Emily Post’s 1922 book on Etiquette, Copenhagen’s Little Mermaid statue, and my great grandmother’s cross stitch linen; they bring me joy.
Geez, what crazy madness did I sign up for choosing to live more minimalist? This sucks! When do I feel a free mind and more spaciousness in my soul? When is that feeling going to kick in? Obviously, I must still be pretty emotionally attached to my stuff. Again, it’s like in the movie The Jerk, when Bernadette Peter’s cries after losing her fortune, “It’s not the money, it’s the stuff.”
Tick tock; life is impermanent. It just is. I’m only now beginning to understand that truth. Now I see why we unconsciously collect so many things; it makes some of this life seem real.
Minimalism is the art of letting go. This next stage is what I’m calling my ‘essential stage.’ I’m not sure what that’s going to look or feel like? I hope it’s less cluttered and only what’s needed. I hope it’s calm and Zen like. I hope it’s more communal. I’m making space for that right now. Come on over, we’ll have some tea and catch up.
