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Sunday, October 21, 2012

Pare down

In preparing to move to a small, 16x20 cabin in the great northwoods for the next six months (at least), I have begun the tedious task of paring down on all of my material possessions for the last three months. I started in July with clothes - bags and bags of clothes from both my and my kids' closets donated.

Then I started going through drawers and cabinets. I found things I'd held onto for years - silly things I simply held onto under the guise of not being "wasteful": oodles of paper clips, old grade books from my teaching days, incense sticks from my college days, old compilation CDs people made for me, endless drawers of scrapbooking and office supplies, coupons I'll never use and old receipts, all dusty and yellowed from time.

Here's the thing about things: they pass through us, coming and going, and ultimately there are very few things in this life that matter.  Even things I thought would never lose their meaning have. 

At this moment in my life, it feels good to live bare bones, to strip myself of all unnecessary possessions.

When my grandmother died, she didn't leave much to this world by way of material possessions. My family has always lived modestly. But one thing I inherited is a ring that belonged to her. It has a blue topaz centerpiece that is flanked on either side with mother of pearl.



It is a simple ring, probably not worth more than $50, but means so much to me.

It feels cathartic to pare down. Henry David Thoreau said, "Our life is frittered away by detail. Simplify, simplify, simplify! I say, let your affairs be as two or three, not a hundred or a thousand."

In the age of smart phones and Google calendars, alarms and bells reminding us of a million things we must do and places we must be, I am abandoning most of it. And couldn't be happier to do so.

In the words of one of my favorite artists, The Be Good Tanyas, keep it light enough to travel!


Listen; there's a hell of a good universe next door: let's go. e. e. cummings

The dreaded birthday is behind me. I am officially 40.

To mark this period, which has been a strange and sometimes painful journey through transition and growth, I decided to get a tattoo. Most people I know who have tattoos - including myself - have some story or meaning behind them.

I woke up without a thought about getting a tattoo, to be honest. But, somehow, the thought crept into my head to get this one word: Listen. 

When I look back on my life, whenever I felt I made a mistake at a major crossroad it was when I didn't listen to my heart or my instinct about something. It made sense to me to remind myself to listen: to my heart, my instinct, my muse, and to also be quiet during this time of transition and healing.