511 days. That’s how many it had been since I last had all of my “stuff” in my possession. Yes, I’m talking about that dark blue shade of nail polish I never would have remembered I had in the box of nail polish from every hue of the rainbow. Yes, I did smile in admiration of the long-forgotten square white candle with harsh, funky edges that I lean the distressed, white anchor on. And yes, I dramatically fell to the floor and hugged my beloved, life-giving Keurig when my eyes met its vibrant yellow finishings. Relevant coffee maker aside, these items that once each had a perfect place provide warm memories of the past, but what place do they hold now?
After recently beginning to unload boxes of all the things I’ve acquired in life and kept since I’ve been an adult, I was talking to my cousin when he asked what I thought was a profound question. I didn’t have much of an answer at the time, but I couldn’t stop thinking about his query after our video call. He had asked, “So now that you’re looking through your belongings and are aware that you got by just fine without them for a year and a half, how do you feel about them? Do you feel like you could chunk a large portion of what you own or do you feel relieved to have it all back?” This is a question I too had pondered in so many words over those last many months, but I couldn’t put my finger on an answer until the contents were back in my grasp and being beheld by my eyes once more.
Apart from these enthusiastic descriptions of my personal effects, I’m not much on materialism. Anyone who has seen the amount of doodads, widgets, and whatchamacallits I have would laugh until tears fell down his cheek after hearing this statement, though. Despite the misconceptions, I’m just not into consumerism and “having.” When I need to shop for something, I know my goal and am in and out of the door quickly, or better yet, thank you Amazon for letting me stay in these clothes and sit with my coffee. I’d much rather find myself hanging with Tynley on a gorgeous day outside. A large portion of the items I’ve procured over the years are a result of being sentimental, and that’s okay, right? The bow that was on the lovingly-crafted construction paper card scribbled by Niece #1 at the tender age of 2, later re-purposed as a laughter-inducing headpiece for Niece #2? Yes, I need that! The too-long shoelaces I tripped over when obtaining my all-important group fitness teaching certification? Of course they’re needed because that last-minute stop to hurriedly buy them and lace my shoes while running through the store after realizing there were in fact none in my shoes on an important day was a relevant moment in life. How else would I laugh and remember these stories?
I’d be lying to you if I said yup, it’s super easy to just toss that stuff. Don’t need it. I haven’t been excited at all about every tiny thing I pull from a box, from the fountain I proudly picked for my very first home that my brother-in-law loves to move around for me to the tiny wooden key holder I made at my church as a child that reminds me Christ is the key. In reality, this was like a shopping spree you win as a result of some sort of competition. You spend no money and the goods keep on coming. Tynley’s eyes were even shining brightly as I pulled old frisbees, balls, and things that squeak from the piles. I laughed as I noticed her beginning to grin and pant with interest. I cackled as I watched her eyes and head begin to move with my moving hand.
So yes, I’d be fibbing if I said this wasn’t as fun as the day after the jolly guy shimmies down the chimney. Nonetheless, this question my cousin had set me down a path of thinking. What would it be like if we could let go of material things? After all, I had somehow managed to make it well past the year mark without my cracker-sleeve-holding Tupperware container. Yes, there were times made more difficult as a result of not having the medium-sized overnight bag and only having the large one within reach, but lo and behold I came out alive after all of this “without.”
This thought about removing my “things” from boxes became a metaphor. How could I unpack what had been mentally boxed up in my life? What kind of freeing relief could be provided by removing unnecessary contents and throwing away the surrounding cardboard forever? All of the compartmentalized items: how could I address each one by evaluating what was really needed and disposing of the rest? What would this make room for in my life?
This awakening had been continually forming; it did not come overnight, but instead began to take shape when I unknowingly set out on a lengthy journey in which I was the main character in my own allegory. I learned a valuable lesson: life is what you make it. Life is what you choose.
You need water to survive, but you can chase that dream you have without the water pack that goes on your back and can instead use the one that goes on your hip if you need to. With basic needs met, you can be anywhere choosing the right kind of vitality. You simply have to keep the boxed up items that matter.
The haves and the have-nots have no real ranking. If only Gatsby had discovered this valuable piece of information. If only the American Dream were simplified …. Yes, having the half teaspoon and whole teaspoon on the ring sure does make life easier, and I’ll be the first to tell you I’m going to keep them both for now, but it’s refreshing to know that they won’t ever hold me back again. They don’t have to be in the drawer nearby for me to survive. I’m unpacking my physical and mental boxes one at a time, choosing what is indispensable and right to have in my life and evaluating what Tynley and I will do next. Stay tuned because it will be good.
Keep what makes you smile in life and throw out the rest. You don’t need it to create a beautiful, fulfilling story.