I am learning to love giving.
It’s a difficult thing, a solid thing, a hard thing: to let go. To release. So much emotion tied up in the material. So many attachments to things in and around daily life.
Some people live in one town all their lives; some people even live in a single house. I have no hometown, no house that I “grew up in.” Semi-nomadic for as long as I can remember, my stuff has long been my home. Items that surround me hold in them the memories of where I’ve been and who was there and what we dreamed about.
The most recent times I’ve arranged my life into boxes and taken them to another building to rearrange my life inside new walls, I’ve realized: there is too much stuff. Too much for a single grown person (and a half-person) to justify.
Why hold on to notebooks from college? As if their weight demonstrates, somehow solidifies, all the knowledge contained in them that was once crammed into my skull. Now, the answer to any question is always right at the end of my fingertips. (But! some inner Junk Lady protests, these pages are in your own handwriting. Isn’t that better than Google, dearie?)
No matter where I’ve lived, the truth remains that we are all connected. When I make the decision to consume, someone, somewhere has produced it, and I can and am having an impact on the producer’s life. When I consume what I don’t need, or don’t consume what I do need because I don’t let go of what no longer fits my life, I also affect the producers. My consumption is active, fluid; decisions change the world.