One day when I was out and about picking up household
supplies, I overheard a young boy remark to his friend, “Let’s work some more,
so we can buy more stuff.” His remark was made as he was making his way to the
cash register to purchase the stuff he had in his hands. His comment both amused and saddened me,
because I occasionally think the relationship between work, life and stuff can
get easily skewed—this from a woman who is in the middle of a major “stuff”
purge.
I like stuff, but I think I’ve accumulated too much
stuff in my lifetime. No, wait—I know I’ve accumulated too much stuff. My
closets and pantry could attest to this. At times, they’ve resembled WALLE’s storage
container, even after bouts of purging and reordering. Where does all that
stuff come from, and why is it so hard to let go of?
In the last few years, I’ve noticed that when I’m
actively engaged in creating, I buy less stuff. I suspect the joy of one replaces
the pleasure of the other. So . . . what items am I currently relinquishing?
They seem to fall into the following categories:
-Decorative items I purchased to try and make my home “the
home” (which really wasn’t my home)
-Items I settled for when my heart advised otherwise (I
should have waited or did without.)
-Materials for projects that never materialized or
failed miserably
-Items that were once appropriate to my life but are no
more
-Objects I’ve tried to save just because they once
belonged to someone I love
I’ve always found the purging process difficult, because
I’m creatively and emotionally attached to many of the objects, as well as the
memories they invoke. But when I find myself taking something out of a donation
box, immediately after placing it within, I tell myself there’s probably
someone else that will find a similar joy in its ownership, possibly creating
what I never could.
There are a few things that have escaped every purge and
always will. Other people might find them quite ordinary, these little bits
I’ve been given or salvaged from the nooks and crannies of our family farm. Some
I’ve recycled for use in my studio, including a sugar dish I formed into a
pincushion and a lemonade bottle I filled with vintage buttons. Other gifted pieces
I simply keep near for viewing-- lovely, light feathers retrieved from various
locations, natural treasures from family
hikes, and smooth, braided strands.
During this most recent purge, I’ve told myself I’ll have
to do more than eliminate and donate. I must make a commitment to being more
conscious of my choices, separating items that offer fleeting pleasure from
those that provide daily sustenance or a lifetime of meaning and joy. I hope
to better recognize what is truly “the stuff of life”.
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