It’s been about 2 weeks now, since Mr. Luna and I moved ourselves and our kitties out of my in-laws’ rec room and into our own apartment. We’d been there since the end of February, and that was quite enough of that, thank you. It’s not that I ever felt unwelcome there in any way, far from it. But it was not our home.
So now, we have taken a very (VERY) small apartment about 3 miles up the road. And a lot of our stuff is still in boxes (either at the in-laws or in our storage unit) because it is oh-so-small. However, living minimally is an excellent lesson in non-attachment, specifically to material objects. I had thought we’d learned it well when we parted with so much before our move from Texas happened. Even after having done so, our moving truck was packed from bottom to top, front to back. It was amazing and I couldn’t understand how we’d accumulated so much, except perhaps the fact that we were living on a (defunct) farm by then, we had lots of room to spread out. And accumulate things.
So, we went from that to camping out in a rec room that already had a lot of stuff in it, and it compelled us to leave a lot of things stored away. Now that we’ve moved into our own (small) place, we’ve started to cull even more things. The washer & dryer we moved with (because we didn’t know how long we’d be without our own place, nor whether that place could accommodate them) are now being sold to my sister-in-law. The refrigerator will be passed along to my parents-in-law for use in their apartment building, in the next apartment that empties and needs updating. I’ve actually started to really examine things like clothes and shoes: do I wear this, ever? Am I keeping it for the wrong reasons? Closet space is limited, and sometimes it’s just time to say goodbye to something that I’ve been “planning to fix or alter” for a year or more. Let go of those things and it makes it all right to replace them. With maybe just one thing.
I still have not mastered non-attachment. There are things I continue to store because I love them, am really attached to them for nothing more than sentimental reasons. There are things that distress me when I have to let go of them. Losing some of my hair, for instance! I struggle with that constantly. Now that I’ve stopped chemotherapy, though, it’s begun growing back. My scalp is no longer this blatant pale line amid my otherwise reddish hair. Of course what is growing back in completely lacks pigment, so it looks a bit like I’d dyed my hair about 3 months ago and it’s grown out, like there’s a line of demarcation. Odd, that. So I guess I was both literally and metaphorically “attached” to my hair, and am quite glad that it’s coming back. It’s a ‘practice’, not a ‘perfect’.