Life transformation, big or small, starts with stuff. At least in all the stories I heard and the
one I experienced. If you are going
anywhere, you’ll need to pack, unpack, repack, and generally change your
belongings. A new hobby will mean an
addition of either a yoga mat, a backpack, a bike, a pair of running shoes or
perhaps a blow torch (it all depends). A
new job may mean a set of clothes to fit the culture and mission, perhaps a new
set of electronics. An addition to the
family is a whole new set of equipment to handle young new life, half of which
you never heard of or knew you needed. Finally,
if you move, then furniture and hardware stores will be calling your name for a
while, all over again. All the stuff
goes somewhere, settles into the niches and crevices of your new or old abode,
and quietly waits for you to call it into usage sometimes daily, sometimes
monthly, and sometimes, never.
November 2011 I was going for the big quarter life change,
and influenced by all the pop American transformation novels (yes, like the
Eat, Pray, Love variety) I decided that plotting a course from a well-furnished
and profusely stocked one bedroom apartment to a mini-storage and a backpack
must be done. Freedom from rent and
utilities, shedding the old to make room for the new, pulling apart the pieces
and then rearranging them into a new whole was the agenda. What I didn’t anticipate is the sheer pain,
stress and anxiety the shifting of stuff that surrounds your life.
Your belongings serve you well until you have to move them
and then they rise up and out of the drawers, shelves, and cabinets, bonding in
multitude to take revenge on the owner by overwhelming in sheer numbers and
volume. Each little thing demands a decision: to pack or to throw away? Out come your old high school papers that
must be looked through and sorted, your vacation photos, your old receipts,
letter, electronics, shoes, etc. Each
file and each drawer is like a fresh can of worms and a time suck bundled in
one. Turns out that you have much more
clothes than you need, even if you do sort it every month and give away what you
no longer wear. You have too much
electronics, new and old. Too many
books. Too many gadgets in the
kitchen. TOO MUCH STUFF. It becomes quick sand, escaping the box into insurmountable
holes and dragging you down into the land of “I’m never going to free myself.”
In the Fend Shui philosophy, life changes start with house
cleaning and re-arranging. While it may
seem odd that quiet, inanimate objects may be holding you back from whatever
change needs to happen, but they do define your routine, the flow of energy,
and color your every-day existence. They
demand care and shape you as they provide the comfort and utility for which
they were purchased in the first place. Unwise purchases and things un-used
hide in corners, symbolizing all that you cannot bring yourself to deal with
and sweep under the carpet in denial.
In the end, I did manage to make my escape, but barely. By the skin of my teeth, the lack of my
sleep, and the tremendous help and effort on the part of my friends and family
who helped me pack, watched over movers, and kept me relatively sane while
taking out garbage bags and moving boxes. Thanksgiving of 2011, though filled
with stress, was also filled with deep amount of gratitude for the help and
love I received along the way while en route to a trip they did not always
fully understand, but supported as best they could.
With my larger backpack in the hull of the plane, and the
smaller one resting at my feet, I was finally more prepared for life than I was
in my fully loaded Berkeley abode. There
were more bug antibodies coursing thought my system than ever before and at
least a fifth of my pack was filled with pills and wraps for every
occasion. While no longer ready to receive
guests with extra sets of everything, I was the perfect guest myself, complete with
my own travel sheet, pillow, towel and full of small presents for amazing
strangers and teachers I would meet along the way. Extra bottles of mosquito repellant, super
light shoes, favorite yoga pants, a shawl, fleece, rain jacket, my netbook,
camera and kindle rounded out the stuff that staid with me throughout the
following three and a half months. For
the duration of the trip all stuff, new and old, would be weighed, though over
carefully, and finally carried on my back, if deemed double useful and dear. The rest, like personal baggage and preconceived
notions would have to be shed along the way.
