The other day I was listening to a fishing-oriented podcast. The podcaster is a professional guide and devoted the last episode to answering the question: "What do you pack to take with you on a fishing trip." I don't know what kind of answer the questioner expected, but I doubt s/he anticipated ALL of the information that filled the hour. The podcaster covered just about every possible trip: solo road trip (he could fill the car with the equivalent of a fly shop); family trip by air (maybe one rod); Guide trip (many rods, specific gear); winter trips (lots of layers and a heater); summer trips (chaco sandals); camping or lodging (sleeping bag? food?). In short, the kind of trip dictated the amount and type of "stuff" he took with him.
This got me thinking about the "stuff" that I accumulate, and what I can "take with me". And I was reminded of the "de-cluttering" industry that seems to have gained steam over the last several years. You know, Clear Your Clutter with Feng-Shui (by Karen Kingston) or Marie Kondo's The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of De-cluttering and Organizing ("Does that pair of socks give you joy?"), or, moving from Asia to Scandinavia, The Gentle Art of Swedish Death-Cleaning by Margareta Magnusson. Every so often, I find myself on a tear, trying to get rid of stuff I no longer need (and maybe never did need), so I find these "systems" somewhat intriguing. But, then I started thinking: "If I'm ever successful in "getting rid" of extraneous stuff, what would be left?" (because I'm certainly not in the position -- being a husband and parent -- of being able to divest myself of everything and retiring to a cave). If I assent to Marie Kondo's mantra ("Does it give you joy?"), it would seem that "what's left" should make me happy. I think, too, that what was "left' would say something about who I am or what I value. Reflecting on the kind of stuff I keep around me led me to start thinking about the kind of people with whom I associate. And I recalled a fun conversation my wife and I had several years ago. We were dining out, and, for some reason, I asked: "If we 'construct' a cul-de-sac that would be populated by the people we enjoy most, who would have in our neighborhood?" Now, we'd been married a long time, and had lived in many different places, so we had a LOT of folks from which we could choose. It made for a VERY enjoyable dinner discussion, as we were "forced" to think about the qualities of our "future neighbors". Of course, we couldn't "take them with us" and create that kind of neighborhood. But, even the mental exercise of thinking "who was left" revealed something (to me at least) of what I value or who I am.
"Naked I came forth from my mother's womb, and naked shall I go back again", declared Job, after most of his family and wealth was "taken" from him (Job 1.21). He knew that, ultimately, he "couldn't take anything with him". It's true . . . we can't. But (mixing religious metaphors), what kind of karmic dust from our "stuff" and associates might we wish to be remembered by?
This got me thinking about the "stuff" that I accumulate, and what I can "take with me". And I was reminded of the "de-cluttering" industry that seems to have gained steam over the last several years. You know, Clear Your Clutter with Feng-Shui (by Karen Kingston) or Marie Kondo's The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of De-cluttering and Organizing ("Does that pair of socks give you joy?"), or, moving from Asia to Scandinavia, The Gentle Art of Swedish Death-Cleaning by Margareta Magnusson. Every so often, I find myself on a tear, trying to get rid of stuff I no longer need (and maybe never did need), so I find these "systems" somewhat intriguing. But, then I started thinking: "If I'm ever successful in "getting rid" of extraneous stuff, what would be left?" (because I'm certainly not in the position -- being a husband and parent -- of being able to divest myself of everything and retiring to a cave). If I assent to Marie Kondo's mantra ("Does it give you joy?"), it would seem that "what's left" should make me happy. I think, too, that what was "left' would say something about who I am or what I value. Reflecting on the kind of stuff I keep around me led me to start thinking about the kind of people with whom I associate. And I recalled a fun conversation my wife and I had several years ago. We were dining out, and, for some reason, I asked: "If we 'construct' a cul-de-sac that would be populated by the people we enjoy most, who would have in our neighborhood?" Now, we'd been married a long time, and had lived in many different places, so we had a LOT of folks from which we could choose. It made for a VERY enjoyable dinner discussion, as we were "forced" to think about the qualities of our "future neighbors". Of course, we couldn't "take them with us" and create that kind of neighborhood. But, even the mental exercise of thinking "who was left" revealed something (to me at least) of what I value or who I am.
"Naked I came forth from my mother's womb, and naked shall I go back again", declared Job, after most of his family and wealth was "taken" from him (Job 1.21). He knew that, ultimately, he "couldn't take anything with him". It's true . . . we can't. But (mixing religious metaphors), what kind of karmic dust from our "stuff" and associates might we wish to be remembered by?
Namasté,
Gary
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