For me, this has proved to be the most difficult, and the most habit-changing. I suspect that I've been getting rid of an average of one thing a day for many years - and acquiring two newer, better objects each day. Or at least they seemed newer and better at the time. Whether the exchange has truly increased my happiness is a big question. Rich calls this "Reaching for a shiny object."
I've been fretting about the post I made yesterday, feeling that I didn't quite capture the essence of what I admire so much about Jane and Rich, and why I find it so deeply relaxing to spend time at Jane's house. I believe the habit of not reaching for a shiny object is somehow at the core. Wanting, researching, buying, unloading the car, disposing of packaging, breaking in, breaking out and arranging new stuff - these are all work, and costly, too. By getting rid of a net of one thing a day, I've become much more conscious of the mental effort I'm constantly putting into upgrading.
I was doing it last week, on vacation. My running shoes are several years old. My knees hurt. Better cushioning might help. While we were in St. Augustine, Sam got a great bargain on a new pair of Nikes at the Nike outlet. Cute shoes! Almost half off! Fit great! Great cushioning! After his trip to the outlet store, I'd expend mental energy every day thinking about the outlet mall, trying to decide whether it was worth a trip. In those moments, I wasn't in the vacation zone - long, slow walks on the beach, crossword puzzles, beer on the lanai, a game of cards - I was in acquisition mode. Plotting and planning to get something new.
I'm doing it right now. I've never liked the medicine cabinet, vanity and light fixture in our upstairs bathroom. The medicine cabinet and vanity seem to have a southwestern motif; the light fixture is faux Victorian. They don't go together, and they don't go with the house. I've spent time at Home Depot, checking out the vanities. I've had a plumber out here: the vanity is high quality even if it is ugly. He suggests having it refaced. This morning, I noticed that the vanity's bottom drawer is completely broken off. Is this the excuse I need to replace it?
Honestly, I'm doing this everywhere in the house, all the time: the living room sofa cushions are tamped down and losing stuffing, the lining has come off on the bottom. The paint is scuffed in the kitchen next to the garbage pail. I used to love the red wall in the basement, now I wish it was a more neutral color. The wood floors are getting worn and need to be refinished. The glider rocker we used to rock our kids to sleep is ugly. The futon couch in the attic is uncomfortable.
All these things take mental energy, energy that I'm not using to be a better writer, or a better musician, or more fit. Or more at peace. What if instead of noticing all the flaws in everything I own, I simply accepted it? What if I committed to my stuff in the same way I'm committed to my marriage, to my job, to my kids?
The Dalai Lama gives an image for meditation: a water glass full of sand, the sand stirred up so that it clouds the water. Meditation - sitting, practicing - simply allows the water to become still, and the sand to sink to the bottom. The sand is still there, but resting quietly. The water becomes clear. It seems that stuff stirs the current of my mind, clouding it. At Jane's, these thoughts (mostly) are stilled. My mind is clear. Calm. Peaceful.
Today, I'm breaking my rule about not counting things that I've acquired since the onset of the stuff project. If you'll recall, in the beginning, I get rid of tons of magazines: Tricycle, Sports Illustrated, National Geographic. Already, I've got a huge stack of new magazines, which I'll take to the library free rack yet again. I'm trying to be so very conscious of not bringing new stuff into the house, yet it's so very difficult. I admire the Amish, who consider each thing carefully before acquiring it. They only bring it into their households if the object will bring utility for generations. If you know that not only yourself, but your children and your children's children, will be responsible for each object you acquire, this would undoubtedly raise the acquisition bar.
High enough, perhaps, that our minds would be free of plotting and planning the next purchase. I wonder, what would such an unencumbered mind accomplish?
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