Looking back over my list of 24 things, I notice that most of what I removed was broken, no longer useful, or something that held memories so strong that the object itself pounded against my heart and brought tears to my eyes. I held on to so many of these things for years because I thought that removing them would be too complicated and time consuming. What I've found is that if you put enough passion and energy behind your motivation to make change it's suddenly not so challenging.
Over the 24 days, I put many things aside with intentions of having a yard sale at the end of the month. Last week, knowing nothing of my efforts, my landlord sent me a text message to say that his wife had helped organize a neighborhood yard sale and would be happy if I would join. I was only able to sell a few items on Saturday, however, I dragged the remaining objects back into my home and left them in the center of my kitchen floor. I was determined not to push them away into a closet or under my bed where I'd be likely to forget about them and lose my desire to remove the clutter. I photographed each item and posted ads on craigslist. In under a week, I have met many interesting people, had hilarious conversations, and sold most of the items, including the giant gym pictured to the left that I wrote about on day 10.
With the gym equipment finally gone, I could reclaim my spare room as my own. I moved in my books and altar, hung up curtains that I purchased in anticipation a year ago, dusted, vacuumed and created a space in my home that feels so inviting I almost can't believe that a week ago it was filled with clutter and anger. A thin metal pipe in the corner of the room carries heat to my landlord's apartment in the winter, making it the warmest room in my home. In the summer the windows let in a beautiful breeze that rustles the leaves of the giant oak tree out front. It is also the brightest room; the sun shines in from early morning until sunset. Before 24 things I'd walk through this room daily to get the mail and would look disdainfully at the gym equipment and boxes piled across the thick black mat that covered the floor. It was like walking into the dark pit of the past; I'd emerge each day with a handful of mail and a fresh load of anger, frustration, and a feeling that I couldn't do anything to change my surroundings. The gym was too big to move myself, I reasoned. I couldn't find anyone to buy it on craigslist, I was reluctant to turn it into scrap metal or donate it-- I continued to make excuses for why I hadn't yet removed it. I don't think it was coincidental that a few days after I posted the story of the gym, someone contacted me that he was interested in buying it. The following day, a man in a Honda Fit showed up to take away the three pairs of crutches I'd posted the night before. He offered to return with his truck and tools to take the gym away for free if I wasn't able to sell it. As soon as I had made up my mind to get rid of these items, opportunities to let go became present.
I recognize now that part of me wanted to hold on to these items so that I could feed into the story of my inconsiderate ex-husband dumping his troubles on me. The more I could picture him as the problem, the more I could play the victim. I became attached to saying that he still hadn't come back to take away his things, however, in truth, I hadn't done anything to initiate a change. I'd text him with forceful intentions, but cave into sympathy when he'd mention his over-loaded schedule or crisis situation of the month. I think deep down a part of me wanted a struggle, wanted to say: look world, look what he's done, see what he's put me through. Not to say that he wasn't at fault, but I perpetuated the situation by not taking a stand sooner, by not being fully committed to moving on.
At the onset of the 24 things challenge, I was certain I knew what my sankalpa was. A week in, I suddenly had no idea what direction my life was headed or what I truly wanted. In letting go, I found a place of complete non-attachment, not just to the objects, but to the stories, my past, my future. Writing the stories, releasing them into the anonymity of the internet gave me a sense of freedom of moving beyond the past to exist in the present.
Removing the 24 things has not only opened up a physical space, but it has also led to a weightlessness, a freedom from attachment to emotions. I have enjoyed paying attention to how much emotion a single object can hold, and how, unlike the fixed object, the emotions can shift radically. When I first moved home from Georgia and was unemployed, I took part in a research study that required me to have an MRI. They asked me to remove my wedding band and I refused. I hadn't taken it off since my husband slipped it over my finger during the ceremony two years before. They explained that the MRI could heat the metal of the ring and burn my finger. I was willing to risk injuring myself to avoid taking off this ring that now sits tucked out of sight somewhere. It's amazing to me that I could be so attached to something material. I have recently been entertaining the thought of selling everything I own and I honestly could not think of a single object that I would be reluctant to remove. I really have found freedom from fixtures.
In addition to letting go of objects, coming to terms with my past, and moving forward into the uncertain future, I have proven to myself that I can find time to devote to daily writing. While my husband was stationed in Germany and deployed to Iraq, I was ardently going after an English degree with hopes of sustaining myself through a career in writing. Rejection letters and going back to school to eventually earn a full-time job, led me to believe I didn't have the time, energy, and, more significantly, the skills to sustain any type of writing project. My writing became confined to infrequent journal entries that could easily be confused with the lovesick writings of a 14 year old girl. On the final day of a five-day intensive workshop last summer, we wrote a statement about what we truly wanted to do to be of service to the world. Part of my statement was to write, I wasn't yet sure what, but I knew I needed to return to the dream I'd lost in the sandstorm of adult responsibilities. When everyone around you is set on a fixed path of college, marriage, career, baby, retirement, death, it's hard to stray from that path for something less certain, less expected.
A year ago, I was sure that I was headed in the right direction, I had a career, a husband, a nice apartment, I was saving to buy a house, my future was laid out ahead of me in a single straight path to death. My divorce was like a giant redwood falling across this set path, forcing me to find new direction, new meaning. I am so grateful that something so challenging, so heartbreaking, could show me that I don't want to be following frozen footsteps through time.
Writing hasn't been the only old passion that has returned to my life over the past 24 days. Freeing up space has allowed me to recall and put effort into pursuing desires that had turned to dreams and were drowned out by the steady finality of tradition.
At this time last year I felt like the ground was falling out from beneath my feet. I couldn't find my footing as everything constant in my life began to fall away. I felt powerless without control over my situation or my emotions. Now, I am holding a jackhammer tightly in my hands and chipping away at the earth that has supported me. I'm kicking up a whirlwind of transformation and looking forward to finding a new path once the dust finally settles.
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