I just ordered a new cooking set. It is lightweight and smaller than what I have been using for almost a year now. At less than AUD$26, it is a small price to pay for the peace of mind knowing what I carry in my car is lightweight, small, and functional. I cannot wait to get rid of the saucepan and fry pan that served me well while camping at caravan parks or alongside the road. Both are still in perfect order. But their weight and size are becoming egregious to me. I will donate them to a good home.
The need for space
Why am I replacing perfectly good cookware?
As I move around on my mattress at night, I try not to bump into my backpack or the bags holding cooking utensils, clunky cookware, or my Esky containing the few pantry items I carry with me: tomato sauce, Weetbix, canned soup, two-minute noodles, etc.
I tossed two windcheaters this week. Both were beyond salvage with stains that refused to disappear after several washes. My old laptop finally found a new home inside an e-waste recycling factory. And the year-old sneakers that stink the roof off my car will find their grave shortly.
When I feel this deep need to purge, my daughter tells me I have a compulsion. She says that underneath my compulsion is a stimulus, unknown to me, that is the real source of my agitation, not the clutter in my life. Yet, my compulsion feels like it stems from a need to uncover something, to scrape away at the barnacles of belief I have acquired over my lifetime.
Compulsion implies need. My need is space. I need to strip my life back to the basics to feel my way through life, to my core, to my bones. After I am done, I am unsure what I will find. Meaning? Freedom? I do not have the answer yet.
What I do know is that the urge is so strong that I make every step go in that direction until it is done. The last few months have been a steady process of streamlining: eliminating unused apps on my phone and iPad, binning USBs and pens, unsubscribing from digital services, choosing a new phone plan that costs less but provides better services, and closing surplus bank accounts. All of these actions make me feel less cluttered and more spacious, both inside and out.
Why does removing excess feel so compelling?
I suspect there is a deeper layer to life that I want to touch or experience without the lenses of clutter; physically, digitally, or emotionally. I am unsure what is left (of me) underneath the layers of emotional clutter that I am symbolically stripping by decluttering my physical, emotional and digital spaces. Perhaps my daughter is right – perhaps I am addicted to decluttering, to living with less, to creating uncluttered environments.
Simplicity is achieved by doing less, using less, having less. Its very definition suggests a lack of clutter in any dimension we live in. Perhaps I am addicted to finding the bones I am made of, psychologically and spiritually.
The Art of Zen
Right now, my life feels like a process of stripping, reviewing, assessing, choosing. I feel like I am reaching for quintessential bones whose names and psychological locations I have not found yet. Perhaps in releasing the stories around my ‘stuff’, I will find the truth of my bones and embrace the Zen of simplicity as I travel and live on the road.
Writing this blog has brought a deep and satisfying revelation: through stripping away the excess, I understand my deep need to declutter is not only about creating physical space, it is seeded in my growing need to find inner space, inner clarity, inner simplicity. Ultimately, I am seeking my Inner Zen ~ inner space.
Has anyone else discovered the truth of their bones when letting go of stories around stuff?
I would love to hear your thoughts!
Photo by Sean Stratton on Unsplash
Published on Ko-fi 31 May 2024
Christine Writer 