Dispatches from Nowhere 02.17.06

Nothing here is mine.

I don’t possess anything. Rather, my possessions own me. Big deal. This isn’t news. We all end up being owned by our possessions. But to what end? Do we need that garbage we accumulate? Does this stuff become the means by which we define ourselves?

I’ve been attempting to clean my house for a while now. Each time I start cleaning, I become more ruthless in what I throw away. Catalogs and newspapers are the first to go. The next items to go are articles I wanted to read and school papers from years ago. I have stacks of magazines that I want to read and books piled up everywhere that are calling my name. I won’t even start on the state of my desk. For a guy that is reasonably fastidious about where he eats, how he dresses and his personal hygiene, my house looks like a bomb hit it.

At work, I periodically clean and organize my desk to restore sanity to my workspace. I am constantly organizing my laptop hard drive to be able to find the stuff I store on it. Recently, I started going through my bookshelves to get rid of those books I am unlikely to read again. I have made a first pass through the pile of old school papers and catalogs that cram the space next to my desk. I threw out most of the stack of magazines that was threatening to collapse and crush anything in its path. It is a slow process, but one that is allowing me to reclaim some of my space, even if I am just going to fill it up again with new things.

So why is it that I cannot manage to organize my house? I admit to being a slob. I hate the process of cleaning. It is hard, dirty work and it rarely qualifies as fun. I’d rather read a book, write, play guitar, play with the kids, or do anything other than clean. I don’t know why I hold on to these things. It is just stuff that clutters up my house.

There is some level of pain involved in cleaning and straightening. Maybe I am a packrat and letting go of these things is tantamount to cutting myself free of the safety bindings and stepping on the tight rope.

The interesting thing is that once I have cleaned and organized and put my house in order, I always feel better about it. It is satisfying. Once I have finally convinced myself to let go of those things that are holding me back, I clean and it is glorious. The rooms are swept and vacuumed, the books are on their shelves, the counters are clean and the trash is bagged and outside the house.

And it lasts a while. Then, slowly, the books start to pile up again, the dust starts to cover the surfaces and the desk clutter takes over. Once again, I find myself having to clean the same rooms over. I deal with the same piles of crap. Except, this is new crap. It is mixed with the old crap that survived the last purge.

Nothing here is mine. All this crap is temporary, so why do I continue to hold on to it? Why can’t I let it go and find release?


I know, at this point you are wondering why you are still reading this. More to the point, you are saying “There is more to life than stuff. Just throw it out and move on. Quit whining.”

I see your point. After all, they are just things. I can let them go, right?

Maybe I’m not really talking about my house.

The old adage, "Truth hurts" is often accurate. It is usually the truth that we don't want to hear, that we need to hear the most.

Yeah. Nothing here is mine. Keep telling your self that. One day, it might even be true.