Yesterday I walked by this literal and tangible pile of stuff by the side of the road and I wondered about it. Whose was it? Did they get rid or it? Was it a clear out to head off to school? An old boyfriend who never came back? Someones kid that is on to new interests? Was it an active, and happy, decision to throw it away? Or a grudging truth?
I've been thinking about stuff recently. As it, our tangible items. The books on my shelves, the films in their cases, the clothes in my drawers. Cutlery. CDs. Figurines. Things old an new. Things that have always been mine and things that showed up one day. Things that were borrowed and things that never returned. Items that are cherished, and others that remain a mystery. Chipped ceramics and stunning crystal. Things that have been carefully cared for and others that weathered through many storms.
I've pared down a lot over the years and have often felt like I need to or should do that more. In fact it feels inevitable and continuous, this paring down. With every seasonal or Sunday clean it's feels like I should "get it together" and pare down more. But I don't know if I feel that way anymore. At some point, my stuff is *my stuff*. Often messy, but also often loved.
Who would have thought that one option would be a way to keep it instead? It's not necessarily what I'll do, but I never realized I could choose to keep it. It might be too much, impractical and a pain in the butt. But it is an option. Who knows, there could be a way to make it all work. I never considered that. But now I am.
Amazing how your perspective can change at any time.