Is Pitching Your Stuff Like Losing a Limb?

It’s fall time in beautiful Boulder and the leaves are yellow and dying. Deeply inspired to live with wisdom provided from nature, I see that I too can let go. It feels good to trim back the leaves, weed out the old, go deep within for winter and trust that birth will come again.

Here’s a little post about some purging I’ve done this season. I hope it will provide inspiration for you to let go, just like the tree. Clinging not its leaves, it teaches us of the cycles of life.

In my fervor to get the contents of my classroom, seven years in the making, down to a portion that would fit in my car, I went wild.

I think my eyes were yellow and my hair frizzy. I think I temporarily tweaked.

With a conviction that I am safe and all I need will come to me, I pitched and heaved. I kept chanting to myself, if I ever need it again, it will come to me. I received it once. I can receive it again.

You see, I felt secure in finally having a closet full of paper plates. Oh, you need a napkin? I have one. Sprinkles for your cookie? Got those too. A tissue? I have 4 boxes.

As a teacher, I am a trained care taker. As a woman, I am too. Nothing makes me feel better than having what you need easily accessible, at the moment that you need it. It’s better than winning an Emmy.

So that day, I got rid of SO much. I have to tell you, here and now, in an incredibly boring list, so that I can finally let go.

Can you please just afford me this one pathetic attempt to appease some ache over something I think I lost? Thanks.

National Geographic magazines. Tons of them. Really cool ones with 3D glasses of the expedition to Mars. Or under water with the Titanic. God. So many freaking awesome magazines that amazed so many kids. And I hauled ’em out and left them in a donation pile. I can’t freakin’ take them with me when I die. Sheesh.

A tree. A stupid, fake tree with chili pepper lights. Whatever. Lame. (Kids loved it.)

Wire baskets. So many. Do you know how many years it took me to finally have enough wire baskets?

Books. So. Many. Books. Why do I always give away my books?
(because I can’t take them with me when I die.)

My whole entire box full of fun games for kids. Jeez. Pictionary Junior. Connect Four. Memory. Like years worth of disposable income. Waaaa!

What is it about we people and our stuff? Why is it that months later, I can sit here and lament the loss of my collected items? Why does stuff make me feel secure?

When I moved from Denver to Boulder, my boyfriend and I went through every single thing I owned. (He insisted.)

We sat for hours on end while he held up one thing at a time and gauged my reaction.

If I was too emotionally attached, or had too big of a reaction, like, “Oh yeah! I have to have that!” We would process.

He questioned me. If the items were attached to a negative emotion, or I felt guilty and had to keep it because I spent so much money on it, he would pitch it.

My whole life went from the size of a large moving truck down to the volume of one car.

I cried for weeks.

A $100.00 hand-made, leather, Native American purse, donated.

Clothes.

Furniture.

Rugs.

My. Whole. Life.

It was painful and achy and I lamented my loss for years to come.

In the end, it was incredibly freeing.

I may still have kept that purse if I could go back, but he encouraged me to take a hard look at my attachment to stuff that made me miserable.

Things I kept out of guilt, or shame, or a need to prove that I am responsible with my money, see mom, because I kept it forever. I think that stems from the time I promised her that if she bought me that bikini, I would never need another one again. Oops. That didn’t work out.

In the end, we die alone. No one gets to have their favorite purse in heaven. You don’t need it. So, when it’s time to let go, let go.

It’s in the release that we open to receive.

I have a new game. I got it from the Fly Lady. 18 Thing Fling! Go around your house with a trash can and find 18 things to throw away. You’ll be amazed at how easy it can be and how uplifting it feels.

We feel pain because we think we may need it one day. If we do, it shall be provided. This I know.

Show spirit that you are not attached to the old, but ready to receive the new. Nature abhors a vacuum and the universe will fill up that empty space with something new. Try it and see. Let me know how it goes.