Sometimes I think about stockpiling goods and what a beneficial currency that would be in a post-apocalyptic world. Other times I fantasize about ridding myself of it all—all the clutter, all the “stuff.” More than once, I’ve been guilty of holding onto something too long because of its (potential) future value.
(I’m no hoarder, mind you. Unless we’re talking about books, and then, I’m afraid I’m terribly guilty.)
Another fantastic trait of mine is the keen ability to go on a purging spree with cavalier ease. Only to find out one week later, I really needed that “thing.”
“Maybe it’s still at Goodwill,” I’ll exclaim, as I set off to re-purchase that which was hastily purged.
It’s a gift, really. One that has always amazed me. Something can sit unused for years, but the minute it’s released from my grasp—I remember why I need it and how valuable it really was.
And maybe I’m not alone in this? Perhaps this is a common trait and one that spreads beyond just clutter and things.
Familiarity breeds contempt, so the saying goes. Though contempt is too strong a word—not the right connotation. Instead, in relationships, I’d say familiarity can breed complacency.
When the days of “new” and “shiny” are long gone, and they’re replaced with time-worn and frequently used. Maybe even marriage can fall prey to this complacent view. Eventually, everyone moves away from the honeymoon stage and wonders, will they ever pick up their shoes?
Will they always chew so loudly or leave dirty dishes lying out? Will they never get their clothes from the dryer or think about my needs? Will they always say they’re “fine” when I know they’re really outraged? Am I destined to clean their hair from the drain or listen to their late-night thoughts when I’d really rather be sleeping?
Questions such as these don’t spark romantic feelings, and for some, after a time, might even fester. And we’d all like to say we aren’t guilty, but if we think really hard, somewhere, it snuck in—this complacency.
If we aren’t careful about focusing on the treasure in our hands, we can let these irritations become a chisel. The statements “always” and “never” slowly chip away at the beautiful monument we’ve created—a marriage of two imperfect people.
And if we let the chipping happen without repairing its damage, we leave ourselves open and vulnerable. Because the truth is, there’s always something shiny and new to find. Some may go looking for it; sometimes, it comes looking around. Another age-old saying comes to mind: the grass is always greener on the other side.
(I realize we’re mixing metaphors here, but hang tight.)
We would do better to stay in our own yard and lovingly tend to the grass inside our fence. If we find it’s brown and dry, we might even be the culprit—it might be due to our neglect. Or maybe we’ve just let our gaze turn down the street, forgetting the yard we’re in is the one we’re meant to keep.
And that other yard? Getting to that requires steps, though little at first; over time, they’ll take us far off course. We might even forget who we are in the process. Most likely, when we reach the other side, we’ll see it’s not as green and inviting as we thought. It, too, has weeds. Looking back, we’ll notice that our own yard was really a bountiful garden—an exquisite thing to behold.
From that vantage point, its unparalleled beauty and immense value are easy to see. But getting back over the fence would not be easy—being welcomed back, not guaranteed.
So, instead of looking at other yards, we ought to change our vantage point. Instead of seeing what’s brown or dead in ours, get down low—find the green and healthy blades and cultivate that to grow. Perhaps weeds have taken root because of our neglect, or maybe those “always” and “never” statements are the real culprit? Maybe what we thought was tired and used was needing a little love and tenderness. What we focus on will thrive. We each get to choose what we emphasize.
Let’s return to the clutter metaphor—the reckless purge and subsequent regret. Instead of throwing things away, we should, like Marie Kondo, hold each item to our chest, and ask, does this spark joy? And if we find even a flicker of light, we ought not to let that item go. We’d be hard-pressed to find another one just as valuable.
No Comments