The weight of me.

I thought with the New Year I would start afresh. An invigorated focus on my goals in life brings me back with a new look for the blog and a refreshed sense of purpose for my writing. But first, a reflection…

The last few months I have had some personal breakthroughs I didn’t even know I was needing. (Sometimes those are the most awe inspiring.) These epiphanies have centered me as never before.

What it comes down to is a knowing myself completely at the deepest levels of my being. Really being good with who that is. This is an all-encompassing knowing; a resting in and embracing of my whole self. This includes recognizing and appreciating my place in the journey of life, loving my body just as it is, and being both contented with and excited about my spiritual path with the wrestling and expanding it involves.

This sounds so corny, really. But it was born of coming the other side of an intense trauma after finally truly healing. In that final emergence from the dark waters of that churning ocean of betrayal, despair, and brokenness I was lost in, with that first step on dry land I felt the weight of me. By that I mean I knew the depth of my courage as well as just how intense and incredible my strength is. That was my “grounding.”

One interesting thing about that ocean: you feel so overwhelmed in the depths of it when you can’t see the shore as the waves are pounding you and threatening to take you under, but the very hardest part is when you finally stand in the shallows of the tide and are taking that long walk to the beaches. Because you feel the sand between your toes as you step, you think you are on land, so the effort is all the more frustrating as you fight to bring your legs forward through the eddying riptides. Never have you worked so hard, yet you don’t realize you really aren’t out of it yet. It’s only on that first step out of the waters that you find that true freedom.

And that’s the moment you know. You know just how fierce you are. You know it’s not an invincibility but an endurance. You feel your strength in every molecule and know… that you can. Who you are is enough – more than enough. Whatever comes next, strenuous and painful or freeing and joyful, will not be beyond you. You can.

Edith Södergran said:

“My self-confidence comes from the fact that I have discovered my own dimensions. It does not behoove me to make myself smaller than I am.”

I know my own dimensions now. In fact, I OWN my own dimensions. I revel in them. So I walk tall. Because I am tall.

Psyched out.

My last installment of USA Network original shows is most certainly not the least. Psych is in the midst of it’s fifth season and is going strong. It is a different breed from all the other shows I’ve talked about, more akin to Monk… but sillier. And funnier.

Shawn is a guy who was trained all his life by his cop dad to notice details, quizzed incessantly during his childhood, he was groomed to be a detective. Gus was his uptight best friend. But Shawn was too much of a screw off (likely because of his dad’s zealousness) and didn’t go the cop route. But with his skills he could solve crimes. One day he got blamed because he knew too much when he called in a tip, so thinking fast, he claimed to be psychic. Then he went and spent Gus’ money to create Psych Detective Agency.

Shawn and Gus are at the heart of the humor. There have been episodes where I couldn’t breathe for laughing so hard – where I had to go back and watch again because I missed what came next, but before I got there I was again laughing too hard and missed it again. The humor is a lot about pop culture, some about 80’s references since that was their childhood, and then just their general bizarre-best-friends humor. Admittedly there are times when I cringe for their being too ridiculous, but mostly I just laugh. Hard.

Their relationship, though, is something to behold. Dulé Hill (from West Wing) plays Gus, and he is the yang to James Roday’s slacker Shawn. It’s this ongoing battle with an intense bond going back years. The struggle and the tension meshed with the history and the camaraderie is what really makes this show work.

Corbin Bernsen (from L.A. Law) plays Shawn’s dad who often begrudgingly or unknowingly helps, when that’s the last thing he wants to do because he thinks his son is not taking anything seriously in life, etc. The detectives that regularly (have to) work alongside Shawn and Gus (as they have been contracted to work cases with the police) are hilarious, too.

There is so much about this show that is right. When the show The Mentalist stole the premise but made it more “legitimate” as a drama instead of a comedy, the characters of Psych even poked fun at it. This season they’ve even been poking fun at themselves; at how they have Shawn figure things out. I love it!

I’ve debated sharing one of my favorite scenes ever, but I don’t know how it would work without a little background of the characters and the start of that episode… you just can’t get how off-the-wall funny it is without having the scene set.So I’ll settle for this quote from a recent episode:

(Detective) Juliet: Who ever said work was supposed to be fun?

Shawn: Ron Jeremy for starters… but that’s beside the point.

It was just in the middle of nothing, and plenty of fine, upstanding folks won’t get it… but it slayed me.

If ever there was a show for ridiculous fun, it’s this one. If you’ve never tried it, give it a chance. It might be too low-brow for you, but you might just love it.

What we know.

Memorizing. It’s not exactly a common past time any more, with the possible exception of stage actors. In our parent’s and grandparent’s generations it was valued as a way to share beautiful and important things. Now we just google and forget.

As for me, before I could read or write I had all the books of the bible memorized as well as a couple dozen scriptures. As a side note, this shows how deeply ingrained in my core faith is. However, as I grew, I got lazy. I did memorize scriptures now and then, but my mind was filled with all sorts of things: movies, television shows, school work… movies. In all that I lost the practiced habit of learning something by heart.

The other day I was working on yet another list diligently (yet somehow wondering if spending so much of my time on lists wasn’t wasteful) when I started to think about how I’d like to improve my spiritual life. I had chunked the sections of my life up to what I’d like to work on in larger sections, hoping that having a larger focus instead of the minutia of details would make it easier, and in truth more fun, to achieve. Regarding my self, there were the three areas of mind, body, and spirit for which I was considering how to improve. When it came to my spirit, memorizing came to mind.

As I processed this idea, I processed what was important to me spiritually. Though I cherish the Bible, I value more than it now, because my understanding of God is bigger than what it was in my youth. And, my spirit revels in words. So I started to think of the quotes from books I’ve read that have changed me, moved me so deeply that they changed how I lived. Those words, those wonderful thoughts, that’s what I’d like to have inside me to dwell on when I can’t sleep or when I’m struggling emotionally.

So I decided to start with one of my very favorite quotes, an excerpt from Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. In point of fact, the first two I want to keep trapped in my brain in order to seep into my spirit are both from that outstanding book. Here’s the first:

“I hate a Roman named Status Quo,” he said to me, “Stuff your eyes with wonder,” he said, “Live as if you’d drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It’s more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories. Ask no guarantees, ask for no security, there never was such an animal. And if there were, it would be related to the great sloth that hangs upside down in a tree all day every day, sleeping its life away. To hell with that,” he said, “shake the tree and knock the great sloth on his ass.”

I know that what inspires is very personal, and most of my friends I’ve shared this with liked the idea of it, but didn’t have the bonded sort of reaction that I did. I know my perspective is rather uncommon, and likely considered uncouth at times, but for me embracing this philosophy is to embrace my nature. My desire to purge and be free of stuff is tied into it. That’s me making sure I’m not so bound by things that I don’t have the energy to shake the tree.

The second quote is quite as vital to my being; to that for which my brain and heart longs.

We’ll just start walking today and see the world and the way the world walks around and talks, the way it really looks. I want to see everything now. And while none of it will be me when it goes in, after a while it’ll all gather together inside and it’ll be me. Look at the world out there, my God, my God, look at it out there, outside me, out there beyond my face and the only way to really touch it is to put it where it’s finally me, where it’s in the blood, where it pumps around a thousand times ten thousand a day. I'll get hold of it so it’ll never run off. I’ll hold onto the world tight some day. I’ve got one finger on it now; that’s a beginning.

It goes to my character and how I want to live my life. There are other quotes, many by the great authors of past generations, that speak to me. And I do hope that I find my way to memorizing them as well. It was likely unorthodox to memorize these two first… but then, that rather sums me up. I have great faith, but it is anything by orthodox. It’s vast and ever-expanding and with it comes a drive to understand and embrace the people and cultures of the world, and in doing that also growing from how they experience and honor God. This is my passion. To know not just these words, but the world - by heart.

The place of pondering.

I sit here on a lovely rainy day pondering. I think that’s one reason I love rain so much – the sound is restful and somehow rejuvenating and in that it gives my mind time and space to consider without the usual stresses. Well, that can happen so long as I don’t run headlong into my day, at least.

What came to mind as I listened to the trickling of the water in the drainpipes, the drops touching down on various surfaces, the swish of the distant cars as the fresh puddles shoot out from below their tires, was the Way of the Tao.

Isn’t it interesting how sometimes you pick up books at random, in a moment you want something different than what you’re in the middle of for instance, and in the end they all seem to relate? One night recently, on a whim, I picked up the tiny tome call What Is Tao? by Alan Watts. Concise as it is, it manages to effectively convey the essentials of the Tao. Having finished that, I grabbed The Tao of Pooh and now and then delved into this easy read.

The thing that most effects me about the Way of the Tao is that it is in the rhythms of nature. It isn’t the worship of nature, but is a kind of respect for nature that we whom have grown up in Western cultures can’t truly understand immediately. This is because in the Eastern cultures they don’t see human beings as standing apart or dominating over nature, but as an integral part of it, fitting right in to it. From a Western perspective, this is revolutionary.

When I started reading these two books, I was already making my way through John Muir’s My First Summer in the Sierra and No Impact Man by Colin Beavan. John Muir was a devout Christian, yet he saw the hand of the divine in nature. When speaking of poison oak and poison ivy he said, “Like most other things not apparently useful to man, it has few friends, and the blind question, ‘Why was it made?’ goes on and on with never a guess that first of all it might have been made for itself.” John Muir may never have know about the Tao, but he understood it.

In No Impact Man, Mr. Beavan talks about the day that he and his family had planned on walking across the bridge from Manhattan to go to a birthday party, but when the day came it wasn’t just raining, it was a torrential downpour. So instead, they stayed home and relaxed and just spent time together. No rushing off in a cab to do the 101 things that we all pack into our “time off” because they were on the journey of a year without making a negative impact on the environment. That day more than any other he felt how the rhythms of nature, even in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world, is within each of us. He noticed how when we pay attention to these things, when we move within them, we are happier and more connected to the people around us, not just nature.

One of my favorite stories so far from No Impact Man was how on another day when it was raining, he was walking somewhere or other with his daughter on his shoulders. Feeling guilty that because of his choice to do this no impact challenge his daughter was having to be out in this weather. He was trying to hold the umbrella so that she would not get wet, but she was crying. Then a gust of wind blew the umbrella over and rain poured on both of them, and his daughter stopped crying. After he righted the umbrella she started crying again. After a couple of times of this he realized that she’s not crying because she was getting wet, rather she was crying because the umbrella is stopping her from getting wet. In his words, here’s his realization in that moment:

“And on this rainy day, here is what happens when I treat my body as something more than a means to transport my head, when I finally learn to treat the landscape as something more than the space that stands between where I am now and where I want to be later:

I take Isabella down from my shoulders and let her jump in a puddle, soaking her shoes and her pants. For fun, I jump in the puddle, too. Isabella laughs. She stretches out her arms with her palms facing up to catch the rain. She opens her mouth, sticks her tongue out and leans her head back. I try it, too.

When did the child in me disappear?

People are running past. They look desperate, miserable, trying to get out of the rain. What has happened to us?”

I think I’ve always kept the child in me, splashing in puddles and loving playing in the rain, for instance. But also, I am a person of the journey, appreciating the path often more than the destination. Also, I have often felt that there is no place better to find the divine than in nature. To connect with the Way of the Tao has for me been more of an understanding of how I relate naturally as well as how I move through the journey.

Reading the Tao Te Ching, the main source of understanding the Tao, is an interesting process this time around. It is causing me to question my ambition. But it is also giving me permission to find rest and contentment in this time of intense struggle with my situation and my lack.

In sharing this, I’m not saying I’ve converted to some new faith, but rather that I feel knowing about the Tao enhances and deepens the faith I have. It gives me a mind for the whole rather than a part. I see creation, not simply man, when exercising my faith. I have always had an affinity for this way, but until it was explained to me I accepted the idea of man’s domination, if uncomfortably.

I think when I started to see the world in this ancient way, I also understood how much less I need in order to feel the fullness of joy. If you know me or have been reading here for a bit, you know that I’m a purger, trying to keep myself free of so much stuff that weighs us down. But isn’t it so much a better idea to simply not collect these things so that there is no need to purge? I’m not saying strive to be an ascetic and live in deprivation, but more to be thoughtful in what you buy. To have less stuff is to have more time because you needn’t work so much to get it and you have less to clean and sort and put away. Not a bad trade.

I look forward to exploring the Way of the Tao more. I look forward to feeling the rain on my tongue and appreciating the wind on my face. I look forward to being fully present and having the time to connect wholly with those around me. I look forward, but only in that I am completely engaged now so I know whatever comes I will be the same then – engaged and ready.

What was discovered there.

This weekend I did another event with the same meetup group. This time it was a docent lead tour of the town I grew up next to, followed by a hike in the hills behind it and a picnic supper under the Redwood trees.

The tour about town was fun and informative, but a little odd since I’ve basically lived there since age seven. Still, it was a kick. The docent was new (I have a sneaking suspicion this was her first time) but she was quite good. The most fun thing I learned was that Lillian Fontaine brought up her daughters Olivia deHavilland and Joan Fontaine here! As an classic film lover, this was astoundingly cool to discover.

But I must say I came alive on the hike. This area of California… well, we are incredibly blessed. It’s unbelievable how stunningly beautiful it is. With the forests that have survived their giant ancestors being cut out 100 years ago, it still thrives. From the most elegant, almost lacy, little plants along the path like the Maiden Hair, to the great Redwoods, it’s lush and vibrant, and quite frankly life-giving.

I nearly didn’t go on the hike, fearing I mightn’t keep up and hold up the group. But the group was four of us, all completely enamored of the nature surrounding us. I gamboled all over the mountains, becoming the kid I am. The others laughed at me as I chattered like a five year old, completely in my element and happier than I’ve been in quite a while. They expressed their shock at discovering I wasn’t 15 years younger than I am (probably would have thought younger had this been their first experience of me). But most of all they found it too funny that I thought I’d not be keeping up with them. I mean, I probably walked twice as much as them in my excitement and contented joy.

But the very best part was when the sent me ahead to see if the path continued on or not, and I discovered something… interesting. There was a bit of a clearing, and in the center of it was an eight foot stick standing upright in the ground with a colorful ribbon tied to the top of it. Beyond it was a small circle of trees, as happens with Redwoods, that had long branches placed in such a way that all sides of the circle had about a four foot high wall, save where the entrance was coming from the clearing. On the two larger trees that formed the door there were imitation flower leis about seven feet up.

As I approached it, I took in the four foot high stump with three candles, broken pieces of celestial stone work, and another flower on it. To the right of the entrance I noticed a broken stone disk of the sun, but it was what was posted below the lei on the right hand tree forming the entrance that caught my attention. The others hadn’t caught up, so I had time to read the wooden plaque. It read:

LOVE

There is no difficulty that enough love will not conquer;
no disease that enough love will not heal;
no door that enough love will not open;
no gulf that enough love will not bridge;
no wall that enough love will not throw down;
no sin that enough love will not redeem…

It makes no difference how deeply seated may be the trouble;
how hopeless the outlook;
how muddled the tangle;
how great the mistake.
A sufficient realization of love will dissolve it all.
If only you could love enough you would be the happiest and most powerful being in the world . . .
Emmet Fox

Wow. As the others approached, I surveyed where we were exactly. It turns out that it was at a meeting of five paths, none of these paths were man made, but extended out from this clearing. It was fascinating. And beautiful.

This was, in our communal opinion, a place to receive a (pagan*) blessing for love – whether with your partner or in hope for the future of an individual. It wasn’t until we’d explored several of these paths and returned that I finally decided that I wanted some of that, so I entered. I took it all in, looking up at the sky through the tall branches that met in the center of the circle far, far above me, to the hand-dyed celestial tarp that was lightly buried beneath the debris of the forest, to the lovely scarf wound around a fallen branch that slanted from the back in (and was perfectly placed to hang a lantern from) and the necklace also attached with a charm reading “I ♥ Ashton.” I felt as if love was brought there, sought there, and found there.

I felt more than thought my prayer, and with the joy of an explorer who has made a delicious discovery, I scampered on to again overtake my group so that I can come back with more to show them.

*When I say pagan I refer to the original meaning of “belonging to the country,” or those who believe in honoring and respecting nature, not the blanket term adopted much later by those of the Christian faith to mean “ungodly.”

How I got old.

Last night I attended a party for a long-time friend who moved out of state and was back for a visit. It was a decade birthday, so quite a do. It was lively – body shots were had (not by me).

On the way to the party I was thinking about how when we’re young, we tend to watch all the movies that are considered greats, for instance. We lap up everything. We’re at a party and we’ll drink whatever is on offer – and likely lots of it. But there comes a point where one says, I really couldn’t give a rat’s arse about that film, academy award nominated or not. It’s not my thing. I’ve definitely reached that point.

So now fast forward to the actual event. Wow. Crazy happenings, lots of “WOOOs” were yelled out over the blaring party-dance music in the back yard of that high-priced suburban neighborhood. This isn’t a bad thing at all – this friend is a true party girl, and it suits her – carefree, flamboyant, youthful. She’s serving her famous “Panty Rippers,” a concoction so strong for a fruity drink as to be dangerous to drink around open flames, and she’s bouncing from group to group, challenging some to do Patron shots, jumping into the arms of her best friend’s new beau and flashing the rest of the party in the process, chatting and flitting, and honestly somehow doing it all with everyone feeling delighted and joyful – including family. That’s how she is.

Now, I have been as brazen and wild and rambunctious. In fact on occasion when we’ve been together, I’ve even outdone her. By a lot. It’s a complete blast to cut loose and just be. Bold. Brash. Ballsy. Confident and fun-loving.

In fact, there were to be further celebrations tonight with a smaller group of ladies taking on a local hot spot and I was invited. At first I thought it’d be great. But then I realized… all this – the party scene – it just isn’t me any more (not that it ever was – I just dabbled). Now, I’m not saying I won’t ever want to get wild and crazy (this was me), but honestly just now it sounds horrid – at least in that way.

As an aside, last night was also the first time I’ve worn heels since my ankle surgery back in October. Previous to going under the knife I quite literally wore crazy-high heels every day (lowest heel was 4”). EVERY DAY. I only owned one pair of flats aside from my sports shoes, and had only worn them on a handful of occasion. I thought heels were the most comfortable thing in the world. Honestly! Until last night. Holy crap! That was rough! Of course, I *did* choose my absolute highest heel – with a platform as well. At any rate, thinking of traipsing all over the area hot spot again in heels wasn’t the most appealing possibility!

So back to my mini-revelation. I was considering on the ride home how I may have inadvertently gotten OLD. I mean, as I write this, instead of being out on the town, I’m sipping a favorite red wine while listening to classical music after being rather domestic all day, doing laundry while suffering through last night’s recorded hockey game then indulging myself in the delights of both creating and eating an exquisite homemade risotto and to-die-for chocolate mousse. And I’m contented (especially my stomach). What’s worse is that I’m looking forward to going to the Farmer’s Market tomorrow and doing more of the same tomorrow evening. (Cooking, chilling.)

I want to think that I’ve just discovered how my dimensions have changed and am embracing them, but really… classical music over popular music at the club? Chill-out evening over a night out? How old is THAT?? Still, somehow it marking me as old doesn’t make me want to jump back to the other way. I’m glad I don’t feel that youthful compulsive need to drink whatever is going. I’m willing to try things, and have a diverse palate, but at the same time I know what I prefer. If it’s not the trendy thing going, and most often my drink selections aren’t fashionable, I don’t care. It’s what I like.

One more thing that is related to this insight is that recently I have been honing in on what I really want from my life, determining that the things that detract from that goal need to be set aside. Spending money to follow in my girlfriend’s wake as she parties the night away, not really getting to visit properly with her at all, isn’t helping me toward my goals. If it were about getting to connect with her, then absolutely I’d be there… but who connects on deeper levels at a club?

I confess it is disheartening to think that I’m not as fun and playful as have been my trademarks. At the same time, it’s really nice to truly know what brings me joy as well as that I can maintain my focus to achieve my goals. So in my dotage, I guess I’ll know myself well. Ugh. I guess my only hope is found somewhere in these two quotes:

We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. — Anaïs Nin

My self-confidence comes from the fact that I have discovered my own dimensions. It does not behoove me to make myself smaller than I am. — Edith Södergran

That said, I hope I can manage tonight without the Ben Gay and Metamucil. Might need the walker, though.

Wanting more.

So all day today I’ve been going through Stephen Fry withdrawals. If you’ve been reading here long (or if you’ve actually looked at my sidebar), you’ll know I love Craig Ferguson. But Stephen Fry is a whole other level of respect and adoration. Well, last night Craig Ferguson interviewed Stephen Fry old school style – no audience, just the two of them talking for the entire show. It was fantastic. I mean, it wasn’t the usual hilarity Craig brings every night, but it was endearing and smart and wonderful. And I want more.

The interview, or really the conversation, touched on some very interesting things. And what I found in the midst of it was that Mr. Fry and I have an great deal in common when it comes to perspective.

For one thing, I’ve always felt that it was so odd that one word can be a “bad” word, whereas a word that means the same thing is acceptable. I also found it odd just what the words meant that were considered bad… not hater or killer or abuser, but fucker. Hmm. Here’s Mr. Fry’s words on the topic:

If an alien was looking down on us and inspecting our language, they would see that the worst that we do on this planet is that we torture, we kill, we abuse, we harm people. We’re cruel. And those are the things in which we should be ashamed. Amongst the best things we do is we breed children, we raise them, and we make love to each other. We adore each other; we’re affectionate and fond of each other. Those are the good things we do.

And they would say how odd that the language for the awful things is used casually all the time. “Oh the traffic was agony - it was hell - it was cruel. Oh it was torture waiting in line.” You use words like torture – that’s the worst word! And yet if we use the “F” word which is the word for generating our species, for showing physical affection one to another, then we’re taken off air and accused of being wicked and irresponsible and a bad influence to children. Now we’re part of this culture so we often don’t question it. But if you think of someone outside of it, it is very strange.

As always, most cleverly put.

Early on Craig said when they knew each other years before how he always felt that Mr. Fry had it all together. His response was so true to the nature of the human psyche.

This is sort of a truth about all humans… You arrive at a party and everyone, in your mind, is armed with a club and all you have is a little Q-tip behind your back. And you think somehow everybody else was at a lesson at school where they learnt some life trick that you will never know because you missed that lesson and you will never catch up... and they think the same as you.

Isn’t that just the way of things, especially in our youth? We think somehow we are missing the punch line to THE joke; the secret ingredient to life, but everyone else knows it and isn’t sharing. I think the wisdom that comes of experience can change this perception, but indeed, not always... or rather, not everyone gains this wisdom in life.

The whole of the show held such insights, but as a whole it was simply captivating. Because of the unique style of this show, two friends talking without an audience, I rather felt like I was the one chatting with Steven Fry. It’s quite disconcerting to find I can’t enjoy a cuppa and a conversation with him again sometime.

Speaking of cups, I did notice that for the first time ever, I believe, Craig gave his guest THE SAME rattlesnake mug as he uses. He’s given the smaller version on rare occasions, but never “the real thing.” That’s some respect right there!

I wanted to end with the W.H. Auden line that Mr. Fry quoted in response to Craig’s tattoo which reads “Live free or die,” because again it is to the heart of my philosophy…

“We must love one another or die.”

**********

Addendum: Yes, I know I referred to Craig Ferguson informally as “Craig,” and to Stephen Fry as “Mr. Fry,” but when you think of each of them and how we know them… can you blame me??

You can't take it with you.

“My idea of the ultimate luxury is to be able to move all my worldly goods in one taxi.”

This, one of my favorite quotes, is from a British TV series (Murphy’s Law). Though I’d thought like this for years, I’d never put it so well. Actually, until this show I hadn’t really known there were other people, even fictional ones, out there that thought like me in this way.

Having said this, it’s likely apparent that I’ve not been a big saver of things, and am, in fact, excessively sparing compared to most Americans. Because of my desire to live abroad and travel the world, I’ve attempted to keep the ever-building amalgam of collected paraphernalia to a minimum. (Of course, being a compulsive organizer contributes to the constant downgrading as well.)

Yet the mass makes headway. Like when I took up triathlons. The equipment and wears add quite a bit. Or my growing collection of luggage and travel gear. Meant to help me keep things to a minimum, or at least to keep them quite small, these little items add up and take up space. Or my high quality kitchen items that have accumulated during my more domestic moments.

Most of all, it’s my books. It is the one collection with which I just can’t seem to part. I’m ever torn between wanting to be free of the encumbrance of mass quantities of stuff, to adoring the library I’ve taken a lifetime to build up. How can I reconcile this? I get advice spanning the spectrum. Yet my core is still torn asunder.

What’s worse with the books is that, because I was in a non-productive space both mentally and physically for the last few years, I indulged in collecting easily over 300 books I’m longing to read. What do I do with them as I prepare to move abroad? How do I keep up with them? When living in Italy, I used to send the books I’d read home to my parents. Do I keep that practice up? Am I then spending the same as if I bought them again? It’s my constant conundrum.

As to the “memory items” that fill up closets, garages, and storage sheds all over this vast country, I’ve been good about ridding myself of such things. If it still holds personal value and I can, I’ll scan or take a snap of it then free myself of it. But mostly it just goes. This is perhaps easier because I don’t have a family of my own. If one day I do, my kids will likely be grateful not to have to sort through my life in objects and paperwork.

Now when it comes to things from my ancestral past, I truly treasure the connections to those that have gone before. I would like to hold onto a few things from them. My grandad’s old stand-up radio that he brought to California from Nebraska as a surprise, the rocking chair my great-grandfather built, the painting my great-grandmother created… those things I will cherish whether they take up space or not. And the photos, of course. But the rest I can leave behind.

All this said, I do still love to have things. I’m not all that abstemious. Nice things feel good. I just want to keep them in proportion. Especially since so much of it is going to be in storage very soon. And, too, I don’t want to have things just to have them – I’d like them to be useful as well as nice. Form and function together is ideal. And always, always, always I must remind myself that in my case, less really is more.

If I try to stick with this, then perhaps I can live something close to that quote. That is, so long as there is a bike rack on the back of that taxi…