When our daughter died, she had her artwork stored in the attic of her building. Her apartment included a storage room absolutely chock full of clothing, cosmetics, books, all in a jumbled mess. Her mother spent some tearful hours going through all that stuff. But I had already read "Clutter's Last Stand" by Don Anslett, who had put himself through college and beyond with a building cleaning service. He made it very clear the cleaning was only part of the work his crews did. The other part was getting the place straightened up enough so the cleaners could clean.
That was the book I read aloud one day as we traveled to the town north of us. Before leaving, we had cleaned out a closet in our house. The book inspired us to do the closet again after getting home. We got something like three large garbage bags filled on the second cleaning, after being inspired.
Reading Anslett, cleaning out a house we lived in for 20 years, dealing with my daughter's belongings have all combined to make it clear to me that roughly speaking, life is now. Now! My fertile little brain, my long-range memory, my warm clothes, my fine car - there are many objects, substances and tools that make life easier and fun. But I feel like I have a good handle on leaving stuff behind. Right this minute, I desire a popsicle and if you offer me one, I will eat it. But I have learned that 10 minutes from now, that popsicle idea will have been replaced with several successive other ideas and desires.
I have no clear memories of coming into this world but I gather that I entered with very little. I have heard repeatedly that I can't take it with me, when I exit, whatever it is. It is true that I am carrying more pounds now and I have artificial netting installed in my abdomen and artificial lenses in my eyes, after that cataract surgery. But when my atoms drift out all over the place, the netting and the lenses will not be connected to me anymore.
I can walk away from the goods and the goals when the time comes. Watch me.
