"One day you will wonder what was so important that you put off the most important things. "One day" can be a thief at night. "- Deborah Brown
" You can't bring that with you, "my husband said, pointing to the travel shampoos and lotions in our medicine cabinet.
He also referred to the closet of clothes that I for a day (when I was thinner, hippier and braver) and a bookcase with books that I should “read.” For him, they were possible signs of a hamster. For me, they were evidence of a well-traveled life.
I was able to get rid of the bottles that came from cheap motels, but I stuck to the more luxurious ones because a girl shouldn't give up everything a boy did.
Of course the topic didn't end when we moved. Two years later we had a toddler and a new baby on the way. My husband didn't have to frown. I felt the weight of my things choke our tiny home like a muffin's top he who dripped from her jeans. The medicine cabinet was the last thing I clung to. But I knew I couldn't cling to the room forever. It was a first class property for important things like baby medicine and booger suction cups.
The Comfort of Hoarding Things
Before I was convinced that hoarding skipped a generation. My uncle was notorious for saving things. He once bought a brand new pair of shoes and stored them for eight years. The day he finally decided to break them in, they crumbled like oreo in a milk basin. Instead of things, my mother hoarded joy. That sounds like a good thing, but it was collected like my bottles, beautifully displayed, but never fully experienced. Her scariest year was when she married, won money in Vegas, and became a grandma. The misfortune had to be around the corner.
It was the fear of becoming my family that brought me back to these stored bottles. And it was my grandmother who finally made me open it. She died after years of fighting Alzheimer's disease. At her funeral, I talked about how she was always baking, sewing, and cleaning the house. The first time I saw her calm was when she was in a nursing home.
Flowers, babies and laughter are underestimated, I told the grieving crowd in their hometown. On a coherent day, she said it was all that mattered.
Wait until you are worthy?
Death makes people do crazy things. Some travel around the world jumping out of airplanes. For me it was hotel shampoo. The experience was not death-defying, but it opened my world.
Somewhere between a half-empty container of Hawaiian coconut shampoo and Italian rose conditioner, I became aware of the intangible things that your ancestors passed on to you. A generation of relatives who had financial problems taught me to believe that only the rich could afford happiness. Only the lucky ones could fill a closet with jewelry from their travels. But I was almost forty with two beautiful boys and a loving husband.
I didn't have to accept the belief that happiness had to be earned. I didn't have time to wait for a day to experience pleasure.
Stop waiting and do one day today
I started donating the clothes that would never fit and flipped the tags from those I thought was right too good to use. There was a secret thought in the folds of clothing that roared to the surface when I had the gall to use it. I thought I would have to be a perfect version of myself to fit in these clothes.
I recently asked my husband: "Do you see that?" I point to my face, which has been attracted to a new shade by an unused makeup palette. But what I really mean is you see me? I am one of the lucky ones.
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