Stuff
George Carlin did a great bit on the care and feeding, or rather the storing, of our stuff. It was more or less a rant against materialism, but I think it has spiritual implications, as well. He talked about our stuff expanding to the point that all we have time to think about is where our stuff is, how secure our stuff is, and who might be coveting our stuff, thereby relieving us of our stuff, though rarely are we of the mind that we would welcome being stuff-less. I have that dilemma, sort of.
My house is full of stuff. My stuff, my kids' stuff, my husband's stuff, his late wife's stuff, and stuff that my mother didn't have room to keep when she moved, so now, it's my/her stuff. And, I'm overwhelmed. I should be in the house, or in the garage, cleaning out all this stuff, but instead, I filled hanging baskets and dug out old table cloths and arranged the plant life and outdoor furniture in order to have a place to escape having to face all my stuff. My front porch has become my oasis of serenity, allowing escape from the claustrophobic condition of the great indoors.
What makes it so difficult to let go of stuff? Mentally, I can do it. I see a candle beside my bedroom t.v. that has no great aesthetic value, definitely has no olfactory value, but it was a gift from a friend I haven't seen in awhile and might possibly never see again. Why can't I get rid of it? It's as though we can hold onto people by holding onto the things they give us or that remind us of them.
Pictures are the same. I have boxes and boxes of pictures. Some of the people in those pictures are now unknown to me. Do I keep the pictures in hopes that someday, I will need them in order to recovery lost memories? Some memories are better lost. I keep school pictures of old acquaintances' kids. I don't know these kids. I could run into them on the street and wouldn't know them. If I did, what would I say? "I have your third grade picture in a box in the back of my closet taking up space. Good to see that you grew out of that horrible cowlick" ?
The funny thing about all of this is that I am not a person who feels a strong pull of the past, to the people and events that have passed through my life, ones that may or may not have shaped the person that I am. I've always wondered if I'm a bit deviant in that, though it's not something I feel needs to be fixed. If a member of my sixth-grade pinochle club was getting married, I don't think I would welcome an invitation or feel obligated to send a gift. Even family members whom I haven't seen in ten or twenty years...is there something missing in my life if I don't seek them out, send holiday cards, or know the names of all their offspring? Connection by virtue of shared blood is, to me, one of the silliest reasons for spending time and effort maintaining relationships with people I have nothing else in common with. I don't know. Perhaps it's selfish. I truly hope that my children don't develop that quirk of the mind, as I do hope that they remain in my life. I cringe to think that they might one day say, "Well, thanks for giving birth to me, Ma. I'll be going now. Was nice knowing you and being diapered by you and all that."
Stuff. Are people stuff? Maybe I'll go clean out one of those boxes in the garage and think about it awhile.
Till later....
My house is full of stuff. My stuff, my kids' stuff, my husband's stuff, his late wife's stuff, and stuff that my mother didn't have room to keep when she moved, so now, it's my/her stuff. And, I'm overwhelmed. I should be in the house, or in the garage, cleaning out all this stuff, but instead, I filled hanging baskets and dug out old table cloths and arranged the plant life and outdoor furniture in order to have a place to escape having to face all my stuff. My front porch has become my oasis of serenity, allowing escape from the claustrophobic condition of the great indoors.
What makes it so difficult to let go of stuff? Mentally, I can do it. I see a candle beside my bedroom t.v. that has no great aesthetic value, definitely has no olfactory value, but it was a gift from a friend I haven't seen in awhile and might possibly never see again. Why can't I get rid of it? It's as though we can hold onto people by holding onto the things they give us or that remind us of them.
Pictures are the same. I have boxes and boxes of pictures. Some of the people in those pictures are now unknown to me. Do I keep the pictures in hopes that someday, I will need them in order to recovery lost memories? Some memories are better lost. I keep school pictures of old acquaintances' kids. I don't know these kids. I could run into them on the street and wouldn't know them. If I did, what would I say? "I have your third grade picture in a box in the back of my closet taking up space. Good to see that you grew out of that horrible cowlick" ?
The funny thing about all of this is that I am not a person who feels a strong pull of the past, to the people and events that have passed through my life, ones that may or may not have shaped the person that I am. I've always wondered if I'm a bit deviant in that, though it's not something I feel needs to be fixed. If a member of my sixth-grade pinochle club was getting married, I don't think I would welcome an invitation or feel obligated to send a gift. Even family members whom I haven't seen in ten or twenty years...is there something missing in my life if I don't seek them out, send holiday cards, or know the names of all their offspring? Connection by virtue of shared blood is, to me, one of the silliest reasons for spending time and effort maintaining relationships with people I have nothing else in common with. I don't know. Perhaps it's selfish. I truly hope that my children don't develop that quirk of the mind, as I do hope that they remain in my life. I cringe to think that they might one day say, "Well, thanks for giving birth to me, Ma. I'll be going now. Was nice knowing you and being diapered by you and all that."
Stuff. Are people stuff? Maybe I'll go clean out one of those boxes in the garage and think about it awhile.
Till later....
Comments