Day 5 Asking For Help- Out With the Old

My family and I are packing up most of our belongings, we are renovating our home. I partially write this as the first line of this entry, to convince myself that it is actually going to happen. I have a very specific system for packing. I go through a section or a pile, getting rid of any thing I no longer need. My goal is to maintain a cut-throat standard. I can’t stand clutter which, if you know my home, means I live in a constant state of either irritation or denial. The next step is to decide if I need any of the stuff which made the cut, in the next two months. If not it gets packed away until the reno is done. I just went through my clothes, I believe I got rid of a good 1/4 of what I had, and then packed away another third. My closet is so nice and empty, the space is delicious and crisp, and screams for me to go find some funky new (or used) article to celebrate with. I have long fantasized about living in a tiny yurt with almost no belongings, just a stove, a rug and an old iron pot. Of course I also love having a fantastic and eclectic wardrobe, so I would need a second yurt as a closet. But two of the many incongruent desires which makes me so very very me.

I love the feeling of letting go. Not just of clothes and knickknacks but other changes too, moving forward, saying good-bye. There is a sadness, a definite hole, but inevitably there are new things, experiences that show up, as room is cleared for them, and the hole is soon filled. Not that there aren’t things which should be kept. Today I carefully placed items from my personal altar into a box for safe keeping. There was a smooth cameo shaped rock from a river beyond the Arctic circle. It was given to me by a dear friend right before our friendship unexpectedly ended. Also two felted lady bugs made especially for me by my lil uns , probably for a birthday or mothers day, or maybe just because they love me. There was a seed pod found in the Hills of Woodacre. I was being silly on a walk with a friend, I shook the seed pod all over the ground and said they were little seeds of him. That when he returned after I had left there would be a whole field of “mini me’s” sprouting up from the soil. As I put the pod into the packing box, a seed fell out. I smiled, and thought about planting it in my garden, growing a hardy Canadian version of him. In an old wallet I found a tiny photo which had been cut off an old drivers licence. It is of Chris and I swear he can’t be older than 19, the same age I was when I met him. Why do you think we do this? Keep old tiny pictures, seed pods and rocks? Sentimentality is a curious thing. I wonder what I have sent out into the world which is still held in reverence? I remember making a book once for a boyfriend, a beautiful sweet man, who went away to the East for University. It was bound with string and had a character named “kitty” who was modelled after me. I wonder when he goes through his things, when renovation time comes round and he takes it in his hands, will it make the cut? And what of other things like the seed pod, that may not have been given by someone, but are representative of them all the same. Is there a seed pod, or a rock, or a marble or a shoelace out there which represents me? Which reminds someone of a warm and loving time? I like to think so. Funny isn’t it? That the most profound things we have brought to others lives may be things we are completely unaware of, that our greatest gifts to the world could be something we never even knew about or that happened without us noticing.

Today's question comes from Anthony. I will give him 12 days journal #50 tomorrow, inside is written, “What is your unique gift to the world?”. He answered:

“I think  my unique gift to the world has yet to be realized and what I think it might be is a song or songs that will make a big difference in people's lives, as in inspire them to do great things or awaken them. Up 'til now though I cannot define what it is, except to say that I have a way of communicating what I see as the truth, as we all do. And my way is with humour and tolerance and occasionally passion. ”

I would agree Anthony, and would add that you fight for the many. I for one appreciate all the work you have put into saving our wonderful beach. Despite Nelson’s carefree liberal ways, Red Sands is the only beach in town where it is Kosher to swim sans suit. I adore swimming naked and have this luxury partially because of your “unique gift”. Thank you.