I Love Stuff. I Hate Stuff.

I have a love/hate relationship with stuff.   I own too many things.  Not all of it sparks joy, that Marie Kondo test to decide whether to keep something or eliminate it.

I’ve gotten rid of things along the way, but unless I move and have to do a major purge, things flow into my house at a faster rate than they flow out. Having lived in the same place for nearly 20 years, stuff has accumulated.

The percentage of stuff I use regularly is…small.

Some of the stuff is seasonal, stored until the season rolls around again.

Some is aspirational: those pants I’ll fit into once I’ve dropped 10-pounds.

Some is, if I’m brutally honest, fantastical: am I really going to read Daniel Pink’s To Sell is Human or George Lakoff’s Moral Politics?

Those Pesky Resolutions

January 1^st. The first day of a new year. That day when we feel the potential of who we think we can be as we write our resolutions.  It’s that First Day of our Big Promise to Quit Something or Start Something.

It’s usually one or the other.  Stop drinking. Smoking. Swearing. Eating ice cream. Start going to the gym. Drinking more water. Reading more.

We choose things that promise we’ll become better, healthier people if we do them. Because, lord knows, if we accept ourselves as we are, how will we ever improve? We need motivation and surely these New Year’s Resolutions will motivate, yes?

Yet we fail miserably at New Year’s Resolutions.

Still we keep doing them. January 1 rolls around and we promise to stop or start various new behaviors and naively act like, this year, we’ll successfully stick to it for 365 days.

Here’s my thought on the New Year’s Resolution Custom.

Stop It.

Just quit.

Accepting Self

There are people I like being with because I feel from them a sense of consistent acceptance and love.

I want to spend time with them because of that feeling.

“How do I get more of that,” I thought. “That’s sublime energy.”

Then the light bulb went off.

“Wow. If I could accept and love myself the way they accept and love me, I could be around that feeling all the time.”

I wouldn’t have to look for it from others.

And maybe—another light bulb—that sublime energy would emanate out like ripples, from me, to bathe others.

Oooh. That’s a worthy meditation.

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Good People Feel Anger

When shit happens and things go wrong, two characters often step into my brain, duking it out over how to respond.

“GD#*F!Soa%B,” the first one swears angrily. “The jar fell and broke and now there’s rice everywhere.” Grumble; stomp. In cartoon-land, this one is red and wearing devil-horns.

The other one—wearing a white, billowy gown with wings—instantly appears, chirping, “Yes! But, good news! No one got hurt! Be grateful for that! Let’s find the silver lining! There’s always a silver lining!”

Ashamed by her Shame

I haven’t participated publicly in the #MeToo campaign, but with all the stories coming forth about women (and men) being put into sexual situations–over decades–that ranged from uncomfortable to violently abusive by men they trusted or admired or were dependent on, my own uncomfortable experiences as a young girl bubbled up.

When I’ve shared with women friends’ details about an uncle’s inappropriate behaviors toward me—sexual in nature but not sex—I’ve been surprised at how many of these friends have had stories similar to—and often much more distressing than—my own.