What our things -- and the absence of them -- can reveal about who we are and how we love.
My sister Mary passed away about a month ago. Among her many gifts was an ability to create beautiful, cozy spaces. Mary filled her home with place-making flourishes: original paintings, ceramics, photographs, whimsical artifacts, and antiques.
Each item felt both earthy and refined, each room a functional, nourishing reprieve.
Mary’s relationship to “things” was almost alchemical. She chose and arranged objects in a way that soothed the busy mind and evoked the creative heart.
Walking through her house, it seemed you were witnessing the sweet, evocative, penetrating expansiveness of my sister’s inner world.
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When I was a visual artist, I was inspired by the forgotten objects I found in the sheds and outbuildings of my childhood home.
I thought these “found compositions” revealed the inner world of my father, with whom I was not close. These are the things he needed and cared for. This is how his mind organized and placed them.
When he died in 1999, the objects gradually collected dust and faded. But they remained exactly where he last touched them, like a personal Pompeii.
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I recently sold or donated nearly everything I own. I’m leaving soon to work remotely, beginning my “Troubadour Year.”
Letting go of my things has been a meditation on identity. What happens to me if I don’t own this book, table, or memento? Will I become less?
Do they belong to me, or do I belong to them?
As the process continued, I felt a need for fewer objects. Much of what I surrounded myself with represented people, places, and experiences I cherish. I realized that feeling connected to these cherished parts of my life is more about finding belonging with myself, not within my belongings.
Recognizing this has been a great blessing.
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Don’t get me wrong, I love things.
I’ll stay in many beautiful homes adorned with lovely objects this year. I’m bringing photos of my daughters, my guitar, a few stones from my travels, and some books.
I’m also bringing a ceramic figurine my sisters Mary and Julie made in Mary’s final year. It depicts a young me in a short shorts, cowboy boots, and a wide-brimmed hat. It reminds me of what it was like to feel shamelessly lovable before I became self conscious as an adolescent.
As i’ve let go of my things, I see I’ve rediscovered this experience of unconditional love. The difference is that now I consciously offer it to myself.
That’s a good place to start a new journey.
Travel gently, friends ~
