Do I Own My Life, Or Does It Own Me?

Stuff. 

For the past six months I've been viewing myself and my family through the microscope of the things we "own".

We have sorted, purged, had garage sales, made countless deliveries to the Free Store, craigslisted, and finally, boxed. So many boxes.


It is said that there is a fine line between owning things and your things owning you. When filling up a 26-foot moving truck, this aphorism becomes quite poignant.

Moving from a place and people where we enjoyed safe harbor for the last seven years-- albeit often begrudgingly on my part-- and dealing with all our stuff feels like ricocheting around in a tornado of our own making. There is no time to slow down, I'm just trying to find a handhold in the spinning chunks of air.

"I can see the finish line," my mother-in-law kept saying. Her optimism kept me scrubbing, painting, and packing long after I would have liked to fall on the floor in a puddle of what might formerly be known as "me." I couldn't see that finish line, but she was smart enough to know I'd believe it was there if she said it was there.

So here we are now, two weeks into our new normal. We're still dealing with boxes, but we've also swum in creeks, lakes, and pools nearly every day, gone hiking, tried stand-up paddle boarding, had more friends visit in one week than we've had in three years, and watched free outdoor music concerts with big, silly gratitude grins on our faces.

It is an act of courage and faith in the Universe to let go of your stuff. It's saying, "I trust you. If I ever really need any of this again, I trust it will be provided."

So too with our life choices. When we stand on that cliff of known solid ground, looking out at some dream we have-- taking the leap into parenthood, applying for a new job, finally deciding to speak our truth-- and we place that first foot out into that deep, cavernous air, we are saying, "Universe, I trust you." But maybe more importantly we are saying, "I trust myself. Come what may, I trust myself."