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

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

57: Bottle Caps

I tried beer for the first time when I was seven. I was siting on my father's left knee and my brother was on his right. My brother was eleven and asked for a taste of the ever-present Coors Light can in my father's calloused hand.  At that age, I insisted on doing everything my brother did, so I was second to take a small sip from the silver can. The next day in school I wrote a journal entry about how disgusting it was and included a hand-drawn picture of me with yellow hair and round blue eyes spitting out black lines of beer. I wonder why the teacher didn't find it concerning that I had tasted beer in first grade.

I had the opportunity to drink several times in high school, but chose not to. I thought that I would never drink if it meant acting like my father.

I started dating my ex-husband when I was eighteen. He was a year younger than me and drank every weekend. We would see each other on weekdays, then he'd disappear from Friday to Sunday. He'd recount the stories of his days of drinking detailing all the practical jokes and tomfoolery.  It wasn't long before I decided I wanted to join the fun and drink with him.

I don't remember what I drank the first time or how much. I remember walking home and stopping with my boyfriend at the abandoned church near my house-- we spent most of the first year of our relationship sitting on the stone steps in front of the empty building. He thought I was drunk, but I was adamant that I wasn't. I didn't know what drunk was supposed to feel like, but I knew what it looked like from years of seeing my father stumble around the house at night. I do clearly recall the second time I drank with my ex, even though I got drunk enough to pass out. I must have inherited my father's high tolerance because I had four beers and two Irish car bombs before puking and falling asleep in the corner. I slept it off for an hour, then woke up and started trying to kick my boyfriend awake so he would walk me home.

I hated the taste of every beer I drank that night and even though I'd enjoyed the car bombs I became lactose intolerant a few months later. I spent months after trying dozens of different beers, but they all reminded me of the single sip from when I was seven. In the summer before my boyfriend left for basic training I tried Jagermeister. It tasted syrupy and strong and warmed my throat and heart on the way down. Unlike beer, I felt the effects after just a couple shots. When I was old enough to buy alcohol myself, I kept a bottle beside my bed and would drink it to numb my senses and lull me off to sleep each night.

When we lived together in Georgia I got the idea to start saving bottle caps to create an ashtray for my husband. It didn't take long for the caps to collect and I crafted a giant container out of an empty pineapple juice can. I continued to collect caps, figuring I'd make something else someday. My ex quit smoking a year after we moved in together and he threw away the ashtray. I remember I was disappointed and hurt that he'd so easily disposed of it, back then I was very much attached to objects and their projected meaning.

I still had a plastic bag filled with sticky caps inside one of my old purses in a box brought up from Georgia. Just the scent from opening the bag was enough to bring back the memories of our many nights of drinking together. The caps lasted long enough for a picture before I tossed them into the trash. I am grateful to have eliminated another useless relic from the dark corner of my closet.
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