Although the future vision I shared with my 6th grade class mates foreshadowed my death at 52 (Terminal Diagnosis), that wasn't the detail that stood out to me. Two others did.
First, was the nomad like existence that was predicted. And second, was the inherent characteristic of the nomadic: If you're constantly moving, you can't own much.
I liked them both the moment I heard them. They spoke to who I was, and who I hoped to become.
Outside of baseball cards, marbles, books, and polished rocks, I've never collected anything, and I've accumulated even less. Ideas, and Experience, have been my sirens since I was a boy.
Everything else kind of bores me.
"I think I've used what I own to distract from what I've left uncultivated. I've been wondering if what I own actually prohibits me from experiencing the authenticity I desire."
False Representation
When I was married I had all the accouterments that successful, upper middle class people have in our culture, and I did nothing to deserve them. If you didn't know me, and observed me from afar, you may have even envied me.
- I lived in a 2,500 square foot home on a quarter acre lot, with ocean views.
- There was a Mercedes, an SUV, and 1950 era Chevy Pick-up in the driveway.
- I wore clothes with contemporary labels, and my hair was cut crisp, and clean.
- Inside, the walls of each room were painted in vibrant colors, and soothing earth tones.
- The furniture was freshly upholstered and accented by dozens of colorful throw pillows. The curtains provided contrast to tie it all together.
- The walls were checkered with photos of the family, and friends, who stopped by often to visit.
- In the back there was a small office, a hot tub, lush lawns, and a thriving garden.
It was beautiful, and like most of us who have things, I started to believe they defined me. I believed it's accomplishment stood as my own. I believed it's order, and organization, reflected the firm grip I had on adulthood, marriage, and parenting. I believed that inviting people in to my home was comparable to inviting them into my heart. I believed that if my home was together people would believe that I was.
There was only one problem. I didn't live there.
"It's not difficult to attract attention, or gain acceptance, or fit the part if you have the right car, the right clothes, and the right address. In fact, it's quite common for conversation to limit itself to those things among some who have them."
Self-Reflection
Living is different than thriving. Living can get ugly at times. The outward appearance of thriving requires constant upkeep, and constant upkeep requires time. In the 10 years I lived in the home I might have spent 36 days, or 3 dozen weekends, devoted to the upkeep of my soul. And when I did, I went away to do it. Living, and thriving, look different to everyone.
My family didn't have a lot when I was growing up. In fact, we were poor. The house we lived in had a total of six pieces of furniture outside of the beds we slept on. It was also near a ridge of wild space that was easy to enter, and explore.
The introduction of material things introduced excitement. It introduced entry. All of a sudden people I'd known from a distance were in my home, and I made the mistake of thinking they were there for me. They were there because it proved to others they had a shiny collection as well.
I took responsible care of the things I'd acquired, and neglected the one thing I'd been gifted. I didn't know it at the time, but the spirit I carried was dying. I never cared about material things growing up, but when I had them, I wanted more. It wasn't until the last year of my marriage that I started to examine why, and where it started.
Guy-dentity Explained
Growing up, almost every guy I hung out with had a collection of something. One guy, Oliver, had a collection of tiny spoons he kept in a box with a specific space for each one. Each spoon had a porcelain tag on the handle with the name of where it came from embossed on it.
There's Carson City, Nevada, with a small gunfighter!
And Yosemite, California, with redwoods, and a bear!
You aren't ever allowed to touch the spoons. They're special.
He had geodes and trilobites and
Brad's insect collections were equally meticulous. They were displayed with color-coded pushpins securing the bugs to a square of Styrofoam. Again, each was labeled, and organized according to it's phylum, or gen-um, or whatever. I have to admit they were cool. But don't touch. You are never allowed to touch. They're special.
It was the same story with each guy, and it didn't matter if it was marbles or coins or stamps or sports cards.
- Each collection was organized and displayed with pride,
- and you weren't allowed to touch them.
Guy collections became synonymous with the guy's identity.
Brad was the smart, privileged guy. Oliver bought his way into the group with stories about distant places and a rainbow of porcelain. Our collections gave us the power, popularity, authority, or expertise we couldn't command ourselves, and they hinted at how to claim a place in the world.
We learned that if you keep what you have just out of reach, and elegantly displayed, you keep people coming back. You stay in demand. Once you let someone touch it, however, they'll know the truth, and never return.
They'll know a rock feels like a rock,
and a spoon feels like a spoon,
and a marble is just a marble,
no matter how shiny it is.
And you'll be ordinary,
and alone.
Girl Talk, Projected
They lived on beds, and in purses, and in cars.
They had names, and stories, and poses. They were seen as real, and if you forgot a name, or story, or how it was obtained, you were fucked.
- You'd get a cold shoulder.
- You'd be tested on your ability to rearrange the herd, in the right order.
- You'd be forced to speak to the toys, sincerely, about your insensitivity, and faults.
- You'd get the same, nonchalant attention you dared show Mister Unicorn...
"I don't know, Mister Chestnut Pink Rump. Do you think... whatshisname...should be allowed to stay after calling you the wrong name? What? If he braids your mane? That would be a good bonding activity. Let's ask him."
And against rationale and reason, you'd do it.
You'd do it because girls infused their inanimate objects with the ideals they desired in their own love life, in their own family life. They did it by projecting them upon their collections.
Girl collections were full of the projections that defined her hopes, and dreams. Like the guys, girls garnered insight about how to make a home in the world.
The attachments we develop to the inanimate things in our childhood promote the desire to consume as adults. The reactions we see from our friends, or from strangers, pilot our selections. The emptiness within us can be avoided with the right combination of both.
We obtain items to fulfill our childish longings, and we forget to ask what we need. If that was the central question, I don't think any of us would have much.
Simplicity Imposed, Thank God
Immediately after our divorce was finalized my ex had all our money, and belongings. I went from stuffed to starved overnight I was terrified.
I wasn't terrified of living without a sofa, or a flat screen. I was terrified I wouldn't recognize myself if I had nothing. I was terrified the friends I had would stay with the house. My identity was firmly rooted in what had been purchased, and placed around me. There was no defining feature to tell me who I was.
That's when I discovered what has become the dictate of my new life. When my stuff disappeared, so did worry. When my home was overtaken, it became easy to move about. With nothing to be identified with, I was allowed to be myself. With everything removed for me, I was able to agree to reject it. This is what simplicity feels like.
Occasionally someone will remark about how simply I live, and how it must be nice. When they do I tell them it was forced upon me and thank God, because otherwise I wouldn't have found it. I was as convinced as anyone else that at the edge of a consumer lifestyle was a void. I was convinced that nice things, expensive things, make life better.
It's impossible to know the degree of mental energy devoted to the purchase, and care, and display, and upgrading of stuff we envelop in worry about losing. When I finally stopped fighting to save my things I felt as if I were floating. I was amazed at how quickly I agreed to let things go. At one point, I got behind on payments for a small storage unit, and the owner called to work out an arrangement. I had no money, and said 'sell it'. She paused, and asked if I was sure. "I'm two months behind," I said, "And I owe you money. If I've been o.k. for the past 6 months without what's in there, I don't need it".
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Ever since then simplicity has been a decision. I live in a 300 square foot studio with hardwood floors, and a deck over-looking a garden. I buy all my furniture and clothes at Goodwill, or thrift shops. I purchased my household items at the dollar store. And my couch was free.
The best part of consciously downsizing is the rise in gratitude I've experienced. I wasn't grateful for a single thing when I had it all. Now I'm grateful for the most basic.
I don't know how it happened, or why. I didn't choose this. And that makes me wonder if it's mathematical. Is a rise in gratitude, and empathy, directly related to a reduction in greed, and ownership? If it is, one answer to making a better world has been offered.
All you have to do is get rid of things.
All you have to do is couch your identity in going unnoticed.
"And it's easy to go unnoticed with the wrong transportation, and the simplest attire, and shelter carved into a hill. It's easy to be ignored if you put more effort into who you are than what you have. No one will notice you if you stop noticing what they have."
I want to give most of what I own away, and see what remains.
*What if my premonition was right? What if I'm here to wander, and collect experiences for 52 years so I can do, or say something, that becomes the catalyst for a left turn when a specific individual was about to turn right?
You wouldn't need a career for that, or a full-time job. You wouldn't need a family, or a group to call your own. All you'd need is the experience of pain, the will to press through it,and the ability to explain it.
Simple.
