The first fourteen years Tom and I were married we moved every two years or so. No particular reason--we weren't running from The Law or anything--we just moved a lot. And in the nightmare of moving all our heavy possessions, there was one very good thing.
We kept releasing stuff we no longer loved.
After all, who wants to carry, heave and lug junk you no longer like to a brand new home?
Fast-forward to our move here in 1993. Twelve years later, still, we're living in the same house that welcomed us. A house with three levels and lots of deep, dark cupboards in which to keep shoving more junk. It's wonderful we've lived in one home so long and yet? Oh, how simple to keep everything!
What is this unholy grasp, this preoccupation we have with our stuff?
But then one day Grace told me it was time to pull everything I owned out of every cupboard, closet and drawer. She asked me to hold each thing in my hand and ask if I still loved it or if it was still useful. Not either? Release it, she said.
Well, it took about a month, but I did it. Not as thoroughly as Grace would have liked, (I'm thinking), but I did get rid of much.
Afterward? I felt positively refreshed.
Well, guess what Grace once again asked me? Yes, to sort through, again, every cupboard, closet and drawer.
Oh dear. But I do love Grace. I need her. I appreciate Grace because only she can release my ungodly hand-squeeze upon things and stuff.
And that is just what I need.
Some far-off day I'll have to let go of all of it--every book, painting, cool chair, every bit of clothing. That will be a happy day. Yet I keep getting the feeling it will be a joyful day, also, when I can let go of half of it early. Before the Big Day.
Because it will remind me that my truest treasures aren't on this planet, anyway.
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