Finding Freedom From Fixtures

After recently taking a workshop with Marylee Fairbanks (http://maryleefairbanks.com/) I have decided to begin my own "24 Things" challenge (http://maryleefairbanks.com/24-things/). The rules are simple: each day for 24 days you let go of something that has been cluttering up your house, something that no longer serves you, objects that will be better suited at a yard sale, donation box, or in a trash barrel. During the 24 day release, one should only purchase necessities-- food, medical care, etc. All other material desires should be added to an ongoing list. If you are able to remember the items on your list at the end of the 24 days, then you are free to purchase them, otherwise they are likely to have been unimportant. According to Marylee, "The clutter in our house reflects the clutter in our hearts." Are we clinging to mementos of past relationships? Unwanted gifts that we were too polite to turn away? Clothes that haven't fit for years? Objects that no longer reflect who we are currently in this ever-changing body and mind of ours? Are the things we surround ourselves with keeping us rooted in the past, preventing us from blossoming into the future? In order to invite abundance into our lives, we must eliminate the unnecessary clutter that surrounds us.

Although Marylee recommends four cycles, corresponding to the four seasons, of 24 Things each year, the timing of her most recent workshop and the significance of this period in my own life could not have been better. I will be beginning my solitary 24 Things today, April 29th exactly one year after my (ex) husband told me he was moving out. In exactly 24 days I will turn 28 years old. I cannot think of a better way to mark the end of a year of transformation and to usher in another year of abundance, love, and gratitude for this life that constantly challenges and inspires me.

"One good thing to remember when clearing out is this: If you have an object that makes the past feel more important than the future then you should let it go. The past is gone. Your present is all that need be nourished." ~Marylee Fairbanks

Saturday, May 18, 2013

Day 19: Willow Tree Figures

In high school, Harvard Square was my favorite place to wander around on weekends. I'd get a medium extra bold freddo from Peet's coffee, and lose hours in Beadworks, Urban Outfitters, the Harvard Bookstore, Planet Aid, Newbury Comics, Hootenany, the Hempest, and Hidden Sweets. In all of the stores, I could feel myself being followed by store employees. My excessive indecisiveness meant I could spend hours in a single store, walking with my hands shoved deep into my pockets, toting a giant bag on my left shoulder.  I'd suspect me of shoplifting too.

In Hidden Sweets I'd barely fill the bottom of the small paper candy bags with carefully chosen jelly beans, black licorice, and nonpareils. Even though it only ever amounted to a handful, the candy would last me weeks. I'd savor one jelly bean a day, biting it in half first, then studying the sweet center while the first half dissolved in my mouth.

Hidden Sweets had more than just candy.  Further into the store one could find toys and collectibles. A cross between the Hallmark store and Spencer's, it quickly became one of my favorite places to lose time.

It was in Hidden Sweets that I first discovered Willow Tree figures. An entire wall display was devoted to the small, carved people in poses. I loved the feature-less, but emotion-filled faces and wrinkled bodies of the figures. I couldn't justify the cost of these creations for something that was simply ornamental. I only ever bought one figure after months (literally) of returning to the store to stare at it on the shelf. The figure was of a woman, a strand of her long hair across her featureless face, her arms tucked tight around an American flag and pressed to her chest over her heart.  Although she does not have eyes, her gait is one of someone staring off in an attitude of honor and grief. This was the only statue I left on my mantel after my husband left. Although he made it back alive, he always said that part of him died in Iraq.

As I stared at the statues in Hidden Sweets I thought to myself how nice it would be to have someone who would buy them for me. Years later, when he bought me a Willow Tree figure of a couple embracing, I told him how I'd always wished to have them given as a gift. He continued buying them yearly, usually for our anniversary. The couple figures bore an uncanny resemblance to the two of us. I lined them symmetrically along the mantel between picture frames and gazed at them from my living room couch while pretending to be interested in the marathon hours of UFC fights I was forced to sit through.

When he left, the figures were the first thing I took down and packed away in the foot of my closet. I thought that if they were out of sight they wouldn't trigger the grief that came in waves, engulfing me in an instant, rolling back out just as suddenly. I put the figures back in their original boxes between the Styrofoam and squeezed them in beside stacks of important papers. The sight of these each time I had to go thumbing through piles of papers was enough to send the sword of sadness directly to my heart. Until now though, I didn't have the strength to find them a new home. How freeing it has been to pick up these painful emotions from the corners of my house, my heart, and let them back into the world.
Posted by at

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)