Unencumbered

Vestiges of the holidays exit my home around mid-January (although I will sheepishly admit to finally removing the gorgeous red velvet-ribboned boxwood wreathes and greeting cards from the porch just yesterday).  I pledge to spend the remaining cold winter weekends through the end of February purging my cavernous home of non-essential “stuff”.  This process is set in motion after my entire closet is officially organized with Elfa product courtesy of the wonderful people at The Container Store. The original rods and shelves literally pulled away from the drywall months ago and with some downtime at year-end I finally take action. An amazing feeling of lightness comes over me, along with a plan to continue on with the boxes in the basement and make my way back up.

 

My fixation over doing away with clutter feels a little bit like the nesting behavior consuming a pregnant woman as she waits for her bundle of joy:  The need to downsize consumes me with an urgency I can’t quite explain.  So when I come across this piece in my Twitter feed via Huff Post’s GPS for the Soul, I see maybe I’m not alone; perhaps this is normal behavior for women of a certain age?  The author suggests what we all need to leave behind as we approach fifty.

While I’m trusting my self-awareness is accurate, allowing me to state definitively that I effectively ditched many of these undesirable behaviors years ago, one I struggle with for sure is clutter.  I’m quoting the author’s entire statement on this because it is so eye-opening for me:

“Traveling light through life keeps you focused on what is really important -- friends, loved ones, family, and work you feel passionate about. The rest of it is just a distraction. Truth is, we don't need so much stuff in our lives. I know someone who buys black shoes every time she sees a pair on sale. What she needs isn't another pair of black shoes, but something to validate her life. So start with your closet, move to your attic and then look at your relationships. Discard the time sucks, the "just in cases," and the "what ifs."

When I am finally able to see every pair of shoes I own, displayed on beautiful Elfa shoe racks in my closet, I am disturbed to discover that I own not only a disproportionate number of black shoes, but more shoes in general than any woman could ever wear. I’m sure I’m guilty of shopping to validate my life; I’m especially attuned to how much of this I did when I was freshly divorced.

I am intrigued by the author’s observation that we not only assess and purge the tangibles in our lives, but extend this same practice to the intangibles, our relationships, suggesting there is an unhealthy overabundance here as well.  I have lived the life of time sucks, “just in cases” and “what if’s”.  I’ve hung out with sad, depressed, angry and negative individuals, drinking the poison they push, unwittingly plummeting into their black holes.  I’ve held on to friendships where much more was asked of me than was ever given in return because I need to be liked.  I still cling to relationships in my head and my heart long after losing all significance in the mind of the other I want desperately to be with.   And I’ve been fooling myself in thinking that I am gradually letting go of my oldest; if I’m being completely honest with myself he’s been gone for longer than I’m willing to admit.

 

Maybe we hold on to so much for fear of being left with nothing. Maybe what we need to realize is that when we have ourselves we have all we’ll ever need. It’s not about the perfect shoes for your little black dress; it’s about enjoying connections with the people you meet when you’re wearing the dress. It’s not about saying yes to those in your life who demand time and attention, it’s about being able to say no to make room for those who demand nothing more than whatever it is you have to give.  It’s not about wishing the one you share flashes of intense closeness with was capable of giving more, it’s about trusting you bring at least 50% of that magic to the table, and you’re built to recreate it with the next wonderful someone who will undoubtedly come along.

 

I look at it as a two-step process:  There’s the actual purge itself and then there’s freeing ourselves from the mental energy we invest in holding on even after we’ve physically let go.  I decide to take the mountains of Legos my boys amass and subsequently outgrow to Goodwill because I will never be the grandmother in a two-story colonial with a toy box full of vintage treasures for my grandchildren’s visits, but with this I also need to decide I will not feel guilty about the statement I’m really making:  I’ll never be the grandmother my mother was. If I don’t commit to step two, I haven’t really let go of the clutter because it still exists in my mind.

It’s the same with relationships, too.  I’ve been attempting to hold on to a teenager who’s slipped through my fingers.  We pretend he’s asking permission to see his friends, to leave the nest for various reasons when the ask is really a formality, nothing more than honoring a past routine.  The minute I accept wholeheartedly this foregone conclusion is when I will fully let go.

As I take on emptying my basement, I’m thinking about how I can preserve some of the sentiment and leave the physical evidence behind.  I’ve been posting on Instagram photos of forgotten treasures I’m sending to the dumpster like my collection of cassette tapes, those scratched and yellowed plastic containers covered in a teenaged girl’s handwriting calling out the music that struck a chord deep inside.  And with this I’m able to toss out much I’ve carried with me for five decades.

I want to travel light.  I want to find ways to leave my boys with the essence of who I am in a format that will transcend the 21^st century world they will, God willing, spend much more time in than I ever will.  And I want to jailbreak my mind. Our bodies move in the direction our minds tell them to go. The path forward is nowhere to be found when we’re looking back.