Divesting

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I was raised poor, if you haven't picked that up by now... Really poor. So, without going into the details, we'll leave it at that. And, I have had a hoarding thing. You know, I love stuff. I can find a reason to buy or keep just about anything.

Not like the first time mom of a four month old I met In Baja, who saved her son's first booger, but like someone who is afraid that each possession is the last of that they will ever have...

I spent my twenties and thirties (okay, and maybe some of my forties...)... acquiring. Stuff. Shit. Things.

And, now, I have decided that I have evolved beyond that. I am now divesting. I will no longer be help captive to my possessions, my stuff, my things...

At what point do things that we save begin to possess us? When do we say 'Enough'?

Well, I have reached that point. I have said, 'Enough'. And, man, does it feel good. During the garage sale, as I watched the Stuff leave my storage barn in other people's cars, I felt lighter, freer, saner. I feel accomplished, just by letting go.

The past week of sorting, cleaning, pricing, bargaining and arguing with myself, has been an ordeal. But with each decision to let go, I gained power. I no longer feel ruled by things, anchored by objects. It is cool, let me tell you.

We now have room in our storage barn to house George's travel trailer (Scruffy), the quad, our jet skis, the riding lawn mower, all of our outdoor equipment (scuba, mountain climbing, camping, hunting, snowboarding), and various antiques thrust upon us by the in laws.

How about that?

So, officially, I am no longer a packrat. I am part of a lean, mean, cut-to-the-chase operation.

And I am proud!