Heave and Thud

One of the many joys of getting ready to move is the joy of going through all the accumulated crap and tossing it in a rented dumpster. Although it’s a bit daunting, I enjoy getting rid of trash since the heave and thud involved in tossing assorted items into a big metal box is rather satisfying. This time I am determined to really get rid of all unnecessary items (the children are staying J). I plan on really, honestly, thoroughly and literally cleaning house.

But there is a catch. When you decide to purge, you have to face every single thing you’ve hung onto over the years. You relive every wasted dime (like the box of 500 piano copies I made and never used) and relish each forgotten moment (like an envelope I found with a scrawled note on it from a kind and compassionate postal worker who delivered our packages and $20 from her own pocket on Christmas morning the holiday after David died). You can’t escape it. You have to face each choice from the past, and decide whether to wallow in it or heave and thud. You get to chose what stays and what goes.

Along those lines, I asked my sister this question, “If you had go and take only one box with you (kids, hubby and food are already accounted for) and leave everything else behind you, what would you put in that box?” She thought about it for a minute and responded “Well, outside of what you just mentioned, there is nothing else I couldn’t live without.” Agreed. But for the sake of thought and argument, if you had to represent your entire life (and thereby pass it on to your children) in one box, what would be in it? What was worth holding onto more than all the others?

Okay, we did have this discussion, but what we both decided to put into our boxes isn’t really all that important to the point. The point I’m heading for happened after we had this little chat, but you need to understand the foundational discussion.

I am trying to decide what top put in my box. Not in a literal sense since we will be taking many boxes with us when we go. It is very figurative. What am I taking in my box?

It is time for me to move forward. When I made this choice I felt very strongly that if I stayed I would be fine, but that going would be better. It would be the difference between treading water (staying afloat with the sole intent of staying alive) or swimming toward something. Progressing. And you certainly can’t do that if you’re box is too big or too heavy. And here’s a little truth for you; if you have to carry around that one box, why would you want to fill it with heavy, silly things? Why would I choose to carry around a ream of paper to remind me of how stupid I was instead of the note riddled enveloped that reminds me there are good people in this world? I want to fill my box with only the things that I am willing to carry, that won’t weigh me down…things that are worth swimming with.

And that, my friends, means a lot of heave and thud. And a lot of choices.

In my sortings, I found a picture long forgotten of me, my ex husband and my oldest son sitting on a couch. We are all smiling and pulled together closely. I am 20 in the picture, and for some reason I look at that girl and want to cry. She looks so innocent and sweet…and pretty. Wow, I can’t even believe I was that pretty 15 years ago. She may not be as wise and worn as the woman looking at the picture, but she has a certain look about her I envy. One of pure, unadulterated hope. She believes that the world will be what she decides it is, partly because she doesn’t know any better. Did she know that the man with his arms around her would become the person she most feared? Did she envision the battle ahead with a second husband whose mental illness crippled their relationship and then left her alone with 4 children? Did she even comprehend the possible consequences of trying to raise four children alone when she decided to bring each of them into this world and become a mother?

It should be clear that those 15 years are thud worthy. Right?

Wrong. Because heaving it would be a symbol of regret, and regret denotes a certain amount of self loathing. And I do not regret or loathe my life (although I do regret the loss of the pretty thing…but it’s there somewhere under all the stuff I’ve buried myself under in an effort to cope with the crap). In fact, there is one thing I have learned from living in the country and that is this; it takes a lot of crap to grow good things. Without it, the fields are not rich enough for a bountiful harvest.

And so I put the picture in my box to remind me of a few things; that that young woman in the picture is not lost to me. That I can again be filled with hope and faith…and possibly be pretty again as well. That I am better now than I was then because now I know and understand that enthusiasm without direction is lost. That I am stronger than I thought I was and capable of great things. That I am, have always been, and always will be…me. And I, crap and all, am completely box worthy.