Ditch

I count four white toilets as I drive through the neighborhood. Our normally neat street is lined with old sofas, appliances and broken children’s toys stacked at the curb. Tomorrow is Community Clean-Up Day, a moment of amnesty for those wishing to toss out ugly, unwieldy, unwanted trash at no charge. And we know a few things about trash.

Renovating a home while living in it propels the occupants into an iterative cycle of assessment.  Items are packed up and forgotten, unpacked for short term use, and then packed up again as spaces are systematically taken down to the studs and rebuilt. Each phase presents an opportunity to re-evaluate the same item, to decide if you really need that table lamp with the misshapen shade or the juicer that’s never been out of the box. While I purge a fair amount, like many of us, I find parting to be sweet sorrow, and therefore I retain far more than I really need.

 

My appraisal process is suspect. Sadly, the obvious questions carry the least weight and are the last to get asked:  Does this fit me?  When was the last time I used this?   The deciding factors generally revolve around far less practical criteria:  Can I see myself using this sometime in the future?  Does this have sentimental value?  Is this beautifully designed or constructed?  Does this appeal to my senses?

 

Maybe the most valuable question of all is one I’m not asking:  Does this still serve me?

It’s a philosophy my favorite yoga instructor writes about regularly, connecting a yoga practice to the journey of finding your true self. As she inspires us to go after the lives we dream of living, she asks us to consider what behaviors, activities, and people in our lives are no longer serving the person we are becoming. I’ve considered this, and admittedly been shallow in my approach.  I identify what it is I need to step away from, but never dive into why I need to step away from it.

 

I’ve glossed over what it means to hold on to what no longer serves me.  The idea that my habits, my routines, the people I’ve always hung out with, the soundtrack that plays in my head could be a security blanket, fueling my fear of the unknown and providing the excuse I need to stay put instead of moving forward.

I see clients demonstrate this all the time:  Even though they’ve hired us to do the bulk of the work for them, they continue to do their jobs in the same way they always have, creating redundancy and confusion instead of moving into different and more interesting roles.

I start to think about my own behavior.  As the parent of grown children, I find myself wanting to step into their lives in inappropriate ways, tempted to treat them as kids rather than adults who need something very different from me now.  And as a partner, I’m known to choose lecturing (which always gets me in trouble) when what’s desired is listening.

The breakthrough for me in all of this is that I have held steadfast to constructs about life that no longer serve me. Somehow being scolded as a child that I should “know better” manifested into a belief that anything less than omniscience is unacceptable. The quintessential rule-follower and teacher’s pet still believes her place in any hierarchy requires obsequious behavior.

As we move into the final stages of construction on this house, less and less of what I was certain I needed to bring with me feels like it has a place in this new space. I could hold on for nostalgia’s sake, or for pride, or to make a statement about independence, but that’s not what I’m choosing to do with this next phase of life.  I’m going to take advantage of Community Clean-Up Day and leave what doesn’t serve me at the curb.