Why are we, specifically me, attached to objects no longer needed? I know many of us have this tendency, but my compulsion toward this is intense. And, it has been for a long time without knowing why. Oddly, I prefer a minimalist environment and cannot stand clutter. So, what’s going on?
To understand myself better, I’m exercising, peeling back the layers of behaviors that do not necessarily support the life I want or who I think my authentic self is.
The Purge
I have recently begun a brutal purge. I’m organized, but the volume of stuff I have accumulated over the last few years is shocking to me. Now that I have set down one of my big rocks, I am moving through my house, evaluating what areas feel overwhelming and not conducive to the efficiency I need in daily operations, such as my closet, the pantry, and other kitchen cabinets.
I find myself baking less, food going to waste, etc, for the simple fact of overcrowding and inaccessibility. I haven’t been making as many fresh or whole-food meals because my food processor is a giant pain to get to, and hand prep takes too long in my busy family life. Equally aggravating is that I have bulk ingredients buried in the many bags of bulk food piled up because of a lack of ready jars or space. So on and so forth.
Looking at the spaces, I’m finding objects taking up valuable real estate in my tiny house full of people. Objects I use less often take up shelf space in front of other objects I use the most. Why am I giving space to things that do not contribute to the daily flow and healthy lifestyle? Do we need fifty cups?
My man has coffee cans full of old nuts and bolts. He also has many duplicate tools inherited from generations of self-sufficient men or things he acquired himself. Valuable tools are even harder to part with; inevitably, they needed to be part of the purge as well.
It’s Not Just a Mug
Why am I keeping that old To-Go coffee mug I no longer use? Those of us who grew up in financially hard-pressed homes know this all too well. Or, if we have spent most of our adult lives financially struggling, we often don’t have the necessary items.
I have things that are half broken or overly used and have already been replaced by a newer version. Sometimes, it is just a question of whether or not we will use it again, and we sure would hate to have to repurchase it.
As I hold my old, painfully useless plastic to-go coffee mug, the handle is many years long gone, and there are remnants of an old sticker; it occurs to me that some items are not simple at all. There’s a slight smile on my face, remembering times past.
It’s a Memory
During my period of big magic, I shared many cups of coffee with friends. I lived out of my VW bus, rode my bike around Ashland, and stopped at the Roasting Co. daily between working at the bakery and teaching gymnastics. The mug had a perfect spot. It used to hang off my bike from the now missing handle. I can still feel the laughter and sun on my face.
My smile changes, though. Remembering how life transitioned into darker days, my mug is still with me. There were the years of trauma, living in despair, working and commuting ten to twelve hours a day, forever supporting a tormented soul chronically seeking to “heal and find themselves,” never doing so. At the same time, I take the brunt of the damage. I can still feel finding solace in my cup of coffee on my way to work, giving me the gusto to face another day and perhaps the only peace I rarely felt for many years.
Now there it was, pulled out of the bottom of the pantry, this thing with me in my magic and trauma. It’s as if I need it to remember for the validation and reminder that those parts of my life happened. The joy and the pain were not made up; they existed, and I was there. Remembering makes me feel like my youthful vibrance might be possible again and that my sadness over lost time is valid.
Why Do I Need an Object to Remind Me?
Is reminding myself healthy? The mug is just one of many attachments that grip me this way, some less powerful than others. If I let go of the object, I’m afraid the memory will go with it. And if I let go of the memory, the enormity of what I went through might diminish, giving power to the situations that caused significant pain. However, if I remember regularly, I feel like I hold my power over it, a salve for the wound—a reminder of how difficult or extraordinary it was.
Intense times have caused leftover pain and damage, pain that still exists. I need to know that there is a reason it still exists and that I’m not just a weak soul. I subconsciously remind myself how the trauma existed and how there were many times when the only comfort I had was the deliverance of a cup of coffee from an old friend. Now, how do I let the old friend go?
I’m the Memory Keeper
I’m the only one left with the memories, another layer realized. I helped my last old dog over the rainbow bridge last year. He was the last of my friends who were there with me day in and day out. My witnesses, my dogs, saw the truth and were my companions, always comforting in the dark. The tormented soul in all the darkness has crossed over as well. The only ones holding all these memories now are me and this old coffee cup.
I have dropped quite a few old rocks in the purge. Soul exercising, letting objects go, and cleaning the old house all feel good. But, admittedly, I put the old mug back in the symbolic bag…for now. Healthy or not, I just couldn’t let this one go. Instead, I decided to write about it and tell its story. Maybe next time I pull it out, this story now told will honor the memories enough to let it go.
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