It is said that minimalistic and tidy living spaces are better, or more appealing. I have a friend who is quite tidy and basically unchanging.
I stand in my living room and look around me. These ‘things’ I see are not just things, or clutter.
They are living memories.
I look at each one and remember the story behind it. What I was doing, what the weather was like, who I was with, what was said. At any given moment I can look upon any one of these items and instantly be transported into the past.
I ask myself, presently, what were my motives at these times? What was ‘driving’ me?
A need to waste time …
Or maybe these particular items are what speak to my soul.
What is this story saying?
What values are emerging for anyone to see?
And why do I let no one in to see it?
I think about the estate sales I’ve been to in my life. I imagine the owners watching as people rummage through their treasures, thinking of it all as stuff … perhaps needed stuff, wanted stuff, but stuff just the same.
I wonder why I have collected so much stuff that someone else will most likely have to sift through, or get rid of somehow. I wonder if this is irresponsible, or selfish.
Or maybe I’m subconsciously preparing for a time when scarcity will be a real thing and I’ll want to have things to share.
Or maybe that is an even deeper subconscious excuse to hang onto it all, collecting still.
After all, these are gifts I have given myself. These are the most gifts I have ever received. I love loving me. I learned late in life I’m the only one who can actually love me more than anyone else, and so I practice … and hopefully good over-flows into the spaces I energetically and physically travel to.
I love having memories surrounding me at all times I guess. Yet still, I wonder if sitting inside a man-made bubble of memories isn’t somehow inhibiting future creations of newness.