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

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Day 23: Car Seat

When I first moved back to Massachusetts from Georgia, I spent a year working two jobs. By day I was an on call substitute teacher, by night a receptionist at a Chevy dealership. Sometimes the school secretary would book dates with me in advance, but most days I would get a phone call between 5:30 and 7:00 AM asking if I'd come in. Even on days when my phone didn't ring, I'd wake up and stare into the early morning darkness, wondering if I was going to have to get ready in a rush. I went directly from the school to the Chevy dealership. With traffic it took close to 30 minutes to drive from one job to the next. Listening to music was my only reprieve, my only way to decompress in between.

Not surprisingly, I grew wary of waking up suddenly to supervise high and middle school students for barely enough money to buy dinner. When my brother and his wife had their first child in January my sister-in-law was granted six weeks of unpaid maternity leave. She would lose her job if she didn't return after the allotted time. I agreed, somewhat anxiously, to give up substitute teaching to watch my niece each day. Up to that point, I'd only held an infant twice in my life-- once when I was ten and sitting on a couch in a relative's house, and the second time the day my niece was born and I cradled her tiny, wriggling body in my arms in the hospital room.

I learned to heat bottles of formula, change diapers, tap her back for burps, and rock my niece to sleep for her morning nap. Most, in those months, I learned to love. On dark rainy days we would curl up together on the couch and sleep until the afternoon. I would doze off with my arms wrapped around her, my palm pressing against her chest, feeling her heartbeat. If she even blinked her eyes open, I'd wake up instantly.

As I got more comfortable with her, my brother clipped a car seat into my Cobalt's back center seat so that we could take trips to the supermarket, the bakery, or, in the late afternoon when it was time for me to go to work, to my brother's construction site. I took care of her each day from March until August when I was hired as a full-time teacher.  I worried that when I started to work full-time and could only find time to see her occasionally that she'd forget who I was. I could not have been more mistaken.  The bond that we forged in those few months is palpable, even today.

Before she could walk, she would wave her arms and legs wildly as soon as I entered the room, smiling and cooing hello. When she learned to walk she would come tottering toward me, arms outstretched. Now, she yells, "Auntie's here," and comes sprinting to jump up and wrap her arms around my neck. When we have family meals, she refuses to eat dinner anywhere but on my lap and has to eat whatever is on my plate, even though it's always completely different from what everyone else has. When our family gets together, she drags me into another room, away from everyone else, and begs, "Auntie play." If anyone tries to join us as we somersault across the floor or sip imaginary tea from plastic cups she yells, "Get in the kitchen," and pushes them into the other room.

She outgrew the car seat pictured above years ago. I tried to return it to my brother, but he wouldn't take it back. I've kept it in my hallway for two years, used it as a basket for my boxing gloves. Although unlike most other things on my list of 24, it brings back memories of love and happiness, it no longer serves me. We must not cling to and become attached to objects and emotions, whether positive or negative. We must learn to let go of the good and the bad. 
Posted by at

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)