It’s been a while. A long while. Even for me. There are reasons, but first, again, I’m sorry for the disappearance. I still need this space to process, to think out loud, to send my inner ponderings out into the universe, even if it’s kind of anonymous. There’s something about writing here that reminds me that I don’t just exist in a vacuum – I’m still part of the world, despite feeling disconnected at times.

Right now, though, I’m overwhelmed by disappointment and frustration. Why, you ask? After planning for months and (finally) starting to feel a sense of anticipation (with, admittedly, a side of trepidation), I’ve had to cancel my trip to Ireland at the end of the month. The reason for this is also what has been keeping me from the blog.

While I’m not critically ill, I have been dealing with unpredictable and worsening health issues for the last year. This is in addition to the challenges created by my shoulder fracture and surgery last summer. It’s been A Year, and it’s not over yet, unfortunately. The uncertainty created by my health is the reason I had to cancel the Ireland trip. That uncertainty, plus the time taken up by the many appointments and tests I’ve had to try to pinpoint the reason for my issues, the mental load of trying to find an answer, and the symptoms themselves, have made it more and more difficult to show up here.

The worst part is, I need this space more than ever. I need to have some small way of showing that I am still here. That I’m not reduced to just a mystery diagnosis. That I am not just the person who is currently not well. I’m also someone who can still take time for introspection. For connection. For community. Even when I’m mostly restricted to doing that online. In a way, I feel like I’m back under a stay-close-to-home order. Travel, right now, is not a good option for me. I was able to travel to visit my family out East this past week – more to come on that, I hope – only because I took complete control by driving myself. That meant I could stop at any time if need be. If I needed to get off a plane – or deal with symptoms – at 30,000 feet and halfway over the Atlantic, well, that would be a bit more difficult.

So I’m dealing with the disappointment. The lack of energy, and the frustration at not knowing why my life has evolved (devolved?) into a seemingly never ending cycle of appointments and symptoms and exhaustion. Notice that I didn’t say I’m dealing well with it. I used to be a healthy person. I used to take pride in my health and my body’s capabilities. Having a body that betrays you sucks.

I’m not writing this to garner sympathy. It’s just reality. Eventually – maybe? hopefully? – we’ll figure out why things are so bad for me right now. Until then, I’m just going to hang on as best I can. I’m going to show up here, but not as often as I’d like. I’m going to (eventually) show up in your comment threads. I need this space and these connections. Thank you for reminding me that I am more than just a bunch of symptoms held together with frustration and (sometimes) anger. <3

A few weeks ago, Engie (Hi Engie!) posted about her collection of bowls, and whether that makes her a collector of things. I left a long-winded comment, as is my wont, because her post made me start thinking about whether I consider myself a collector.

I grew up in a family of collectors. My father has, believe it or not, one of the larger collections of antique spectacles and related material in the country. My mother always claimed that she does not collect anything, but well, let’s just say her collections of snowmen, cookbooks, and other ephemera tend to say otherwise. 😉

I used to attach a lot of sentiment to objects. I was a saver – of newspaper articles, cards from others – and a collector – of cow paraphernalia, of all things. I rarely got rid of anything. I’d go through it and “organize” it but there was never a time when I truly got rid of things.

And then something changed. I’m not sure when this happened, but it seems to be a product of my frequent moves as an adult (until this location… I’ve lived here longer than any other location post-HS) and realizing things aren’t memories. Memories are memories. I can get rid of a card from a loved one (well, save for the truly special ones) and still know that they love me. I can read a book and donate it, or take it back to the half price bookstore. I can get rid of clothing, even if it has a sentimental tie, because if I’m not wearing it, what function does it serve?

This hit home when I saw my ex’s new place in the fall. When we were together, we verged into tchotchke land. Lots of folk art, unique pieces, antiques that spoke to us, and so on. Because of the sequence of events that led to our eventual split, he wound up with the vast majority of the stuff – we moved to two different places from one shared place and his place was MUCH bigger, plus, we considered that our “home”, an my place as merely temporary.

I looked around his home and realized, I don’t want most of these things.

I don’t want the folk art sculptures that graced our table tops and cabinets. I don’t want the wedding dishes or silverware or napkins. I don’t want a full set of dishes – I get by just fine with my small set. And so on.

And so… now I have to figure out what I’m going to do about all the stuff that I need to make a decision on. Some in a storage closet here that I need to go through. Antique books my father (a true collector) bought me; some I will keep, of course, but the vast majority, no. The things that were “mine” from our marriage, currently stored in my ex’s basement. So many old photos. So much… stuff.

It’s a daunting task. I feel like I’m going to be death cleaning even though, well, I’m not planning to shuffle off this mortal coil any time soon.

But I really need – and want – to do it. To get rid of things. To clear physical space in my world.

Why? Is it that I want a ‘clean’ start? Is it that external order (should) lead to internal peace and calm? Is it that my stuff doesn’t reflect who I am anymore? Am I trying to break from my old life (or, really, lives)?

I don’t know. But what I do know is that I value the memories. The love. The relationships. Not the things. Material representations have their value, to be sure. I just don’t need quite so many of them.

I feel a pressing need to find the time to Just Do This Thing. To go through everything and ruthlessly weed out those items that I no longer need or want. Even better if they can be used by someone else, who actually wants or needs them.

“Clutter is a manifestation of a) holding onto the past and b) fear of what might happen in the future.”

Leo Babauta

Nothing like a quote to get me thinking…

It’ll be an interesting – but necessary – journey. Now I just need to take the first step!