You know I've been thinking lately.... about attachment and the willingness (or unwillingness) to let things go. My grandparents have been packing and moving from a condo to an assisted living apartment this past week and needless to say it has been the topic of a few family discussions. In everyone else's mind this appeared to be a perfect opportunity for them to scale down and let go of all the things that they didn’t need anymore, especially now since they won’t need to cook their dinners or do their laundry. However, fighting tooth and nail, they took almost everything with them. This included most of their furniture, 30 vases, 50 mugs, and many small jars of string. I guess you could attribute it to living though the depression or maybe it just makes them feel more important. Maybe they feel like they just might need one of those things someday. Maybe they don’t want to get rid of anything because it cost them something and they want to make sure it gets used. Or perhaps at 92 and 93 years of age they just want to hold on to their lives as firmly as they can. But I don’t know…
As I talked to others in my family I saw that some of us seem to have “it“ and some of us don’t. I’m talking about that packrat gene. I like to pride myself on the fact that I don’t have “it” and of course I take every opportunity to stand on my ledge of superiority and lecture those below about how amazing it feels to continually let go of things that clutter my life. The more I thought about the resistance others seem to have to release things from their lives, the more I questioned all the things that we are really attached to. That’s when I stumbled off my ledge into a storage closet in my mind and found boxes and boxes of mental clutter that I continue to take with me on every move I make through life. I swear I even heard my grandmother’s voice echoing down the hallway “No, I’ll need to take that too”.
OK, so I’m not as superior and as unattached as I proclaim to be, I’m just attached to different things. Where others collect vases, I guess I collect thoughts and ideas. I LOVE to think and analyze and ponder and pontificate. Its my hobby, my passion, my entertainment. I admit that I have a couple hundred journals but to my surprise that’s not where my mental clutter ends. What I’ve come to realize is that I have been hoarding thoughts the way others collect boxes of electrical cords or old broken knicknacks. I have so many thoughts and ideas that really serve no purpose in my life anymore (especially those dealing with outdated issues or past relationships) but I continue to unpack, rethink and discuss them with who ever will listen. Oh how I wish I could put them in a garbage bag and throw them away (or even donate them to value village) but I can’t. Maybe I feel like I just might need them sometime or that I just might fix them one day. Maybe I don’t want to throw them out because they cost me something in time and I want to make sure they get used. Maybe they make me feel more important. Maybe at 42 I’m just holding onto my life as firmly as I can…
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