I am finding that I like getting rid of things. I like it even more when my things find new homes with people who will love them. And if the person is someone I love, that’s pretty much perfect.
I have a pretty easy time weeding out clothes, for instance. If I don't like it, don't wear it, whatever - out it goes. I have gotten rid of a few toxic friends but now I’m having trouble finding people I can trust. (Making friends gets so much harder as you get older don’t you think?) One thing I can’t get rid of is my books, especially my cookbooks. And pictures, I can’t get rid of those. Fortunately, we have put most of ours on CD’s and I upload everything to my Flickr and our Costco photo account.
I'm not talking about going minimalist here, I'm just talking about freeing myself so that I can focus on what REALLY matters and making (more) room in my life for the things I love doing the most. Besides, having more 'stuff' doesn't make me a happier person - and in a society driven by consumption, it can be hard to realize this truth.
5 comments:
i totally agree, stuff don't make you a person, memories and friends make you a person, too bad most of the humans don't think like that.
Stuff just gets in the way, along with untrustworthy friends. Get rid of it all.
As far as friends are concerned, I probably have three close ones. Make that six if I include the Bear (THE cat) and Silver & Sadie (THE horses). So, I guess I'm really very fortunate.
Of course, I love all of you who comment on the Horse Pucky blog. I think we've formed our own little community thanks to Cranelegs Pond.
Yeah, we can at least blame bob for something!
Ah, the memories I have of all my former stuff. My prized matchbox cars, baseball cards, comic books, coin collection, blacklight posters, toys and games. Thanks to my mother’s good advice I happily unburdened myself of all those earthly items decades ago. If I ever want them back, a little shop downtown will sell me nearly every item that cluttered my 1960’s era bedroom for just $9,743.27 plus tax. That shop owner may have my stuff, but I’ve got the memories. That’s got to be worth a nickel; maybe even a buffalo nickel. Thanks mom!
OUCH!
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