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Tuesday, June 14, 2005 - Material Anorexia
| Not to take lightly the use of the word "Anorexia", but this is the best way I can think of to describe an issue of mine. See, I love nothing. I mean, I love the idea of having nothing. Not owning anything, managing anything, buying or selling anything. Just me, getting up each day and seeing what happens next. I love clean lines, no frills, basic, ultra-simple, practical, low-maintenance, solid-colored, even, balanced, wash-and-wear living. I spend time rearranging, cleaning out, getting-rid-of, throwing away, consolidating, paring down, even-ing up, reducing, and purging. It clears space within my line of sight which makes my brain relax and have less to mess with internally. There's probably some pschological term for this, some syndrome of sorts, but as far as I can tell, I'm not dying from it and noone is getting hurt. Atleast not in the short-term.
But here's the other thing: I love everything. I mean, I love the idea of having it all. All of the experiences of traveling the world, of outer space, of new frontiers of thinking. I want to know all there is to know about everything. I want to create on every level in every medium available, and then start a new one. I want to read every book, learn every language and master every instrument. I want the most money to do the most things with for the most people. I want freedom to choose and the most time to decide. I want to pursue everything line of reasoning, every trail of thought, and every possibilty until I am exhausted. And then I want to start over.
So how do I manage to love the small town I live in with all my heart yet at the same time manage to drive myself insane craving to jump the next flight to Anywhere whever I see an airplane? How can I live like the Desert Fathers and still carry around the creative chaos in my head?
Well, beyond all the philosophizing, I had to come to a place where I began to survey the damage of my austere thinking and living in relationship to my family. See, if it were only me, no so much of a problem, right? Then I could just be the strange, eccentric woman who wanders the globe with nothing. But with a husband and children, I began to sense a sort of neglect on my part. Was all this nothingness really healthy? Of all the "extremes" I had managed to fling off over the years, this one had somehow managed to escape the long arm of Grace. But I think I've been caught. Or maybe I've just finally surrendered. To what, though? Surrendered to the stuff of living. The mess of being. The chaos of existing. And you know what? I'm actually enjoying it!
Ok. practical application: you see school stuff lying around that is unused, so what do you do? Sell, give, or toss. Those were my methods. Never did I think "keep for another time, just in case, or for when the grandkids start coming". Now, I see their potential to perpetuate life, whether here and now with us or later on in some other form. Next thing: you see a room that lacks atmosphere. "Sterile" doesn't quite cut it. More like "just moved in". (I, in fact, had someone ask me that once, when they came over and saw my bare walls, lack of color, and knicknacks--and no clutter, I might add). Most women would paint, buy, and accessorize. But, not Gloom Room mom. I eliminate it, Goodwill it or Trash it. Too messy to make a decision or to take a risk of ruining something. Better plain than wrong. Are you catching what I'm saying? I was so into having to control my environment and purge the potential failure and mess from it that I completely ruled out any potential living that could take place. Oh, I know some of you may think I am overstating, and in some ways, perhaps I am. But in essence this is what was happening. There were no identifiers on the walls of what kind of woman I was, no personality in my home for people to get a "feel" for. No messes or mistakes to witness (other than the mess of constant piles of stuff to go through, get rid of, or throw away). There were no collections, no memories to view, no raw materials to create with. Ugh. And my children have had to live with this. My prayer now is that is isn't too late. I am making changed a little at a time: allowing projects to stay out and have their place among our lives for a time. Trying new recipes. Buying craft supplies. Beginning some personal persuits of my own. Bringing home more books and less boxes. Resting and enjoying the living that is happening around me.
This weekend I am setting up an area specifically for messes. Projects. Inventions. And I am dragging my bookshelves out of retirement and putting them to use once again, filling them with investments for now as well as the future. And the noise in my family room tonight will not be the din of silence, but instead the sound of music as I play through my favorite classical pieces, even if I mess them up and never finger everything correctly. I hope my kids take after me in these ways. Control isn't what it's all cracked up to be. |
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Posted by brandyb
