Letting Go of Things

I was a freshman at a small liberal arts college when I learned that it was possible to live without attachment to things.  That’s a Buddhist concept but the person who demonstrated that to me was anything but Buddhist.  His daughter was a student at the college – a year ahead of me – and she had invited me to join her and her father (a college professor) for dinner at their house.

I was overwhelmed at the invitation to a professor’s home.  To me, college professors were a different sort than ‘normal’ people . . . all of them brilliant, thinking lofty thoughts, using vocabulary words that were at least 6 syllables long, living exciting lives of research and travel.  What would I say to such a person . . . me, a mere freshman from Coatesville PA, a little podunk town in eastern Pennsylvania at the far western end of a railroad line stretching east to Philadelphia?

My wonderment at my friend’s father’s status extended to my amazement at the collections of objects around their house.  Each object I noticed had a story attached which the professor was eager to spin.  One vase in particular held my attention.  Was it the color – a translucent glaze of turquoise brushed with purple?  Was it the shape – a 10” vase with one flattened side and the neck twisted slightly to the opposite non-flat side giving the impression of an inquisitive person’s pose?  Was it the story that came with it – a tale of being gifted, then stolen, then found and returned?  It was obvious to my friend and her father that I was mesmerized by this object.

“It’s yours.  Take it home with you.  I would love you to have it,” her father said. 

I demurred.  His generosity embarrassed me and I felt I had looked too longingly at the object.  I had to refuse several times through the evening.  He told me that he loved the things that he had, but that he had always enjoyed giving them away to those who loved and admired them.  I thanked him and went away wondering how strange it was in my experience that someone would want to give away something that they loved and had acquired and lived with.

Some 50 years later, I am in my own house and surrounded by “things” I have loved and enjoyed.  I have collected 150 diverse figures of sheep made of pottery, wool, glass, tin, paper, wood.  I loved the search for different sheep.  It made me easy to please at Christmas or birthday times … give me a sheep! 

I have more clothes than I need and thanks to the pandemic’s impact on eating out and going to events there are many I know I will never wear again.

I have books I have already begun to give away – thank goodness for book sales!

The list goes on with the detritus of 70+ years of life.  I want to live more lightly.  And that entails giving things away.  I am surprised at how unattached I am to most all of what surrounds me in our home.  I have worked over the years at adopting the attitude of that long ago professor: to love what I have but to be ready to share it or give it up so someone else can use it and perhaps love it as I have.  And for most of what surrounds me, I can do that.  Someone need a coat?  I have 4 winter coats of various styles – choose one and wear it in health.  Looking for a way to pray that doesn’t use words?  What a minute.  I have two books about lectio/visio divina and contemplative prayer that you can have.  Need some holiday dishes that could serve 14 people?  I can help you.  I have a service for 15 (one setting broke) that is festive for the holidays and that I haven’t used because I haven’t invited anyone in during the pandemic.  No need to return it.

I want to give my things to others who will use them.  And therein lies the glitch.  Most of the people I know are at my stage of life and we are all looking to lighten our belongings, not take more on.  Therefore, the only two ways I know to clear shelves or cabinets or bookshelves are to post on Facebook Marketplace and recycle sites, or to take loads of things to Goodwill (which is currently closed to donations in our area) or some other thrift shop.  And that means more than the exhaustion of making choices to keep, discard, or donate.  So many thrift shops and donation sites are closed – perhaps buried under mounds of donated clothes and household goods – that it is hard to scout out places to donate things to.   Packing things in boxes or bags, lugging them to the car, carting them to the place that is open to donations (usually requiring stopping at several sites to find a place that takes what I have) – it exhausts me to even begin.

So I am unattached to what I have and want to give it for free to someone who can use it . . . and perhaps that latter comment is part of the problem.  I shudder at thinking of a dumpster filled with things I have loved and cherished.  And that means that there is so much work involved with finding where to give these things . . . that I still am surrounded by them all.

So perhaps my spiritual discipline is to let go of these things and also to let go of my desire that they continue their life with someone else.  Ouch.  But that seems to be what I am being called to do.  To let go of them.  To let go of my hope for and intention in giving them away.   

Breathe.  Let go.  A spiritual practice that this stage of life requires.  I will try.

With love,

Jane