Greetings, good morning, hello my friends.
Since just before the new year I have been purging madly. It seems implausible as I have far, far less than most people and have been purging for years now, but for the past two weeks I have been giving away and getting rid of. Clothes, shoes, books, documents, eyeglasses too weak to help my eyes see, things I bought and never used (one of those fake electric fireplaces).
I love giving things to people. Absolutely love it. It makes no sense from an economic standpoint, but it makes my heart sing to give something to someone I know will use it. So the day the plumbers came to figure out why the shower was leaking I asked them if they knew (plumbing and heating) of anyone who might be able to use that portable heating unit and off it went with them.
It began with my closet: clothing and shoes, good-bye. Books, all but about five went to the local library and my very favorites are headed to the Lyrical Ballad Bookstore in Saratoga, a place that has been my refuge for forty years. I’ll donate to them, not sell, because they have given me so much in my lifetime.
We broke down cardboard, took odds and ends to the transfer station and two big loads to the Goodwill in Bennington.
I don’t think I’ve felt happier in the dead of winter than I have this year.
I went through documents and re-filed everything. Next I’m going to tackle the boxes of treasure I have kept for each of my three kids. I also have a pile of things I’m going to burn as soon as it warms up a bit outside.
Embarrassingly enough, I have never put an Advance Directive in place, so that’s in progress.
At times I’ve thought that it feels like I’m getting myself ready to make my exit from this earthly realm, but I don’t think that’s true. Not yet, anyway. This is a kind of fire drill for my inevitable death.
Peaceful minimalism.
Something very curious has happened along the way: even though I am eating the way I usually do in the winter: more; more sweet things, and putting on weight, I feel deeply content in my body. I’m not grumbly and frustrated with myself. I eat what I feel like eating, treadmill and swim occasionally (there isn’t enough snow to ski), notice the pants feeling a bit tighter, and delight in all of it.
It’s almost as if … the less emphasis on my surroundings as ‘home,’ the more my body becomes home, the more I love it and settle in to it. Which might sound weird for a 57-year-old, but ask any woman nearby and she will most likely tell you that she has struggled with self-image and feeling uncomfortable in her own skin her whole life.
I don’t know if there is any truth to this, I’m just reporting what’s happening. I am paring down my life to its core necessities. It makes me feel lighter and freer. It leaves me more time to focus on the things I care about the most: the people I love; my studies in spiritual growth, writing, serving this world.
The house is no longer so much a home, my body houses me. The house is shelter, it’s nice. The body has been a warrior for me since the beginning. I arrived here with one leg shorter than the other, tried to make myself invisible as a teenager by throwing up the things I ate. Smashed up by a car in my twenties, concussions from skiing and mountain biking spills, babies, excessive drinking and sunbathing. This lovely body has endured so much, it seems high time I paid it some respect, loved and honored it, unconditionally, for carrying me through all these years.
Stuff takes so much time to care for. Endless cleaning and reorganizing, shuffling, displaying, all for what? Believe you me, I have seen the kids pull the dumpster up to the house more than once in my time as a pastor/chaplain, and throw away everything Mom and Dad gathered over the years, after they’ve died or moved into a nursing facility. I have seen the basements and attics overflowing with stuff, rooms filled to the brim, displacing the air and making parents with little ones uncomfortable. The slow-motion, year-after-year accumulation of stuff … when so very little is actually needed.
We love our stuff, I understand. It gives us grounding, I guess. Reminds us who we are. But does it really? Or do the people we love do that?
I am a person who was already living with very little and yet I managed to fill two carloads with things to give away. Even purging from my minimalist life has made me feel better, with freed-up time and space to think about and do things that hold meaning. I’ve been through this process many times, so I know how it goes, but I didn’t expect the lovely side-effect this time of truly loving and honoring my body with no judgement, only joy. A home-coming in the truest sense. A lifetime achievement, if I may say so myself.
xomo be well
Great read. I am purging also. I have too much stuff for this time in my life. I am giving art and books away to the Saratoga Senior Center. Enough, I must get ready for the next move matter if earthly or not. This transitiion at Embury will not last forever. Love you and think if you with flowers. It won't be too much longer.
Nothing like a good trip to the transfer station or the Goodwill. We downsized so much when we moved up here to our 700 square foot barn condo! It’s a great feeling to give stuff away to those who can use it! Hurray for you!