I'm big on de-cluttering. I find it so freeing. I've never been a materialistic person. I was very happy when I travelled around Oz with all my worldly belongings squashed into a car and trailer, then just the car, and eventually just a suitcase and bag.
I didn't give it much thought at the time. it just felt like the most natural thing in the world. I sought experiences and connections. A change of clothes and my journal where all I really wanted.
Then you Grow Up. You accumulate a house, a car, a Serious Relationship, obligations.... and it's rather too weird, even for me, to live in a house with just a change of clothes and a journal. That's not simple, care-free, or hippie even. It's just erm, spartan. So of course, you accumulate stuff. Necessary stuff, then pretty stuff, then just because-I-walked-past-the-home-decor-store stuff.
When we left England to come to Montenegro, it was a wonderful opportunity to do a major de-clutter. I admit, I'm not a knick-knack sort of person and because I was always somewhat frugal and not overly materialistic, we never had a house full of crap anyway. But there was still stuff, stuff we didn't need. Taking more than we needed or at least really wanted would have been indulgently costly, so that major de-clutter was an essential task.
And then events happen in our lives that render stuff meaningless, or devoid of any serious meaning. At the very least, it just all seems too much. I looked around me one day last week and I felt burdened with everything I owned. And it's not tons and tons by a long shot.
photo: davespertine at devianart
My mind was needing peace, silence, space. All this stuff was noise. My soul is requesting movement forward. All this stuff was weight.
What I have the most of is books. We have a spare room in this apartment that holds all our boxes of stuff ready for that day we were to move to a new house. But most of those boxes are my books.
I am a keeper of books. I don't just enjoy stories and information, I enjoy the aesthetic of shelf upon shelf lined with books. I adore old and new libraries. Old cracked leather-bound tomes and crisp clean new novels. A mini fantasy (though not important) was to have my own room that was mostly library. Floor to ceiling, corner to corner, books, books, books.
The majority of my books are non-fiction, so before you think me too indulgent, I do refer to a lot of them over and over.
I don't collect, purchase much of or even any at all, in the way of shoes, outfits, jewelry, accessories, make-up, hair products, hobby materials, music, or film.
I don't go out with friends. I don't get manicures. I cut my own hair. I have no subscriptions to magazines. I don't smoke.
My books are my passion and vice perhaps.
And even these objects of adoration, have become noise. I'm as shocked as anyone.
I gave away or sold over 500 books before leaving England. I still have 700+ books.
So I'm giving them away. If I were in England I'll be selling some for the much needed cash, but ah well. It feels good to give. I just wish there were more expats here wanting books. The few that love them as much as me have small apartments and husbands on watch.
My eclectic collection seeks admirers. Cooking, health, and novels, find ready homes. Occult, spiritual, and plain weird-ass items are in want of suitors.
I wish you guys were closer so that I could pass them on to you.
I went through my database (yes, I admit nerdiness) and created a new tab: keep, go, ?. I have 500 classed as Keep so that's a great start.
I just don't need them.
That's a mighty big statement for me to make. It was never an issue about needing them. I do enjoy owning them, but it has made me wonder...
How much of what we own is there to fill space? A space that we have been lost to know how to fill. A space within ourselves.
We fill it with stuff, food, sex, achievements, study, work, drugs, chores even. If we are unable or incapable of finding the true need.
Because our souls know one thing above all else it seems to me
it cannot be empty.
photo: canislupusmoon at devianart