So, I played a game with myself the other night. OK, I said to myself. I am going to put myself in the mental and emotional space of preparing to move out of my house taking just my dog, my bass guitar, my clothes, a few books, and move into a room somewhere, run free of my stuff.
'Close my eyes...OK, ok....ok I'm there..... Now, what do I need to do?' Well, being in my bathroom at the time, when I opened my eyes, they lit on a stack on magazines on the back of the toilet. 'Those have to go', I said to myself briskly. I pick up the first one, Su Casa, with a DARling little straw bale house in it that I just love! Onnhhh, 'I might want to build this someday, I can't throw that away'. OK, Sundance catalog from two seasons ago....'Onh, that pearl ring is LUSCIOUS! I might want that someday'...... DONH!!!
Good God. I can't even throw away an old catalog! This is far worse than I imagined. My stuff has me captive!
That decided me. I am forging ahead with the notion of renting out my house and moving out with only a few essentials. Can I really do it? It's such a seductive thing in the abstract. Well, the end result is seductive, I can't ignore the in between of really letting go of the external parts of my life, that will be oh so ouchy.
I guess I know myself partly through my surroundings, the things I have around me, my routines. They are grounding, they are comforting. I love the coffee shop down the street. I love that the specialty market is 3 blocks away (my grocery bill should go down substantially if I take the plunge). I love walking around my charming little neighborhood. The familiar landmarks, watching it evolve, the toddlers on my street who would double their lifespan in the time I would be gone.
I know these things will be here when I return, I can fall in love all over again. But still, to let go....I can feel a stir of grieving at the thought.....
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