Stuff
Sometimes I get aggravated by the sheer amount of stuff I own.
I’ve been thinking about “stuff” lately as an old friend is moving this week and she has to pack and unpack it. When I move or even think about the effort involved in moving, I get aggravated thinking about all my stuff.
The same aggravation arises when I go camping and spend a few days existing with nothing more than what can fit in my pack or pockets, I am overcome by a desire to throw away everything I own when I get back home. All the stuff at home is weighed in my mind and registers as “too heavy”. I think “Why do I have all these spoons, each person in the family only needs one?” Needless to say, I don’t actually toss or burn everything, mostly because I am the only one in my household who really likes living out of a backpack.
On most days, I like my stuff right up until the point I have to maintain it, move it, feed it, care for it, and enslave myself to it.
So when I saw this, I was blown away. I can’t even imagine living like this. I own nothing compared to this person.
Even though I can now smugly congratulate myself for not being “that bad” this house scares the pants off me. It makes me want to toss some stuff prophylactically.
Nothing I said about stuff applies to “my precious“.
