At
least once per year, usually around New Years, Herman and I do a house purging.
This year it came early, because after the wretched news of another mass
shooting, we needed a mental tonic.
We
started by cleaning out our garage and shed, donating or throwing away
everything we no longer need or use. Those two areas produced two truckloads of
stuff. Then we focused on the inside of the house, the closets, which produced
another truckload of donatables.
I
don’t know why, but purging always brings me joy. I’ve never been a packrat,
and the fewer possessions I have around me, the more liberated I feel. Possessions
weigh me down, shackle me. They take energy, pull my attention to them, clutter
my mind.
One
of my happiest times in the last several years came when Herman and I first
moved into our Palm Springs house. During the first two weeks—before the moving
van arrived with all our belongings—we lived in an empty house. Only an air
mattress and sleeping bags in the bedroom, a card table and chairs in the
dining room, and our laptops. No pictures on the walls, no TV, no writing
desks, nada. I felt so free. With nothing but white walls, I felt I could
remake myself into anything I wanted. I could be someone new each day. Then the
furniture and artwork arrived, and with it came all my personal history. And I
was back to being that person again, anchor into that mindset by all those
things.
I
believe it’s true, that the things we gather around us do define who/what we
are. It’s why people hoard. The more things you gather, the more tightly
expressed you become. All those things are a visual manifestation of who we
are, they define us, and that gives most people a great deal of comfort. Not
me; I like existing with as few boundaries/definitions as possible.
