Thinking, Not Doing; or, Give it Away Now

Buddha leading the way, France Summer 2012

Der mentsh trakht un got lakht.---Yiddish Proverb "Man Plans, God Laughs."

A respiratory infection has knocked me flat on my butt for most of my two week vacation, so my unpacking, relaxing, sunbathing/swimming, and even reading has gone by the wayside. So much for plans.

So instead I've slept. Or tried to sleep. I have had such a persistent cough, my sternum and ribs hurt. I've pulled neck muscles. I'm in pain, I'm wheezing and up all night, and my doctor appointment is NEXT Wednesday.

I finally gave up Saturday and did what any sane person in the US hates doing---I took a trip to the ER out of desperation.

Except here, people don't crowd the ER because they don't have insurance and they are using it as their primary care physician.

Instead, people go to the ER because. . . wait for it. . . they are having an emergency. And everyone---contractors, active duty, dependents, civilians, foreign nationals---has to have medical clearance, which requires proof of insurance, before they can come on the island.

The years I was an Army wife, my husband (and our military friends) would always laugh about no matter what your ailments and diagnosis are, the military always gives you 800 mg Ibuprofen.

Guess what I got for my neck pain? :)

I also got something for my horrendous cough, a nice and shiny new inhaler for my wheezing, and even though I didn't sleep great last night, I got more than my usual 3 hours since this started.

Even better, I really, really was happy with the staff at the ER. They were friendly, thorough, and because I was the only (yep, the only) person there, it was efficient.

I don't plan on going again, but it's good to know that on our little chunk of the island, the medical care has been, so far, really good.

I'm going for a follow up on Wednesday to meet my new primary care physician. We were sad to leave our wonderful family practitioner of the last 10 years, so those are really big shoes to fill.

Buddha in a rare Texas snow, 2010

What sitting around, hacking and trying to rest for six days does do is allow you to slow down. It also gives you time to do a lot of thinking.

Instead of unpacking, I'm thinking about unpacking. I've also done a lot of thinking about what is in the boxes. Why do I own all this stuff?

I've read a few blogs and web pages about living a minimal lifestyle. There is one that encourages you to pare down to 100 possessions---just my books alone would knock that out. (Although, maybe I could call my book collection 1 item. Would that be cheating?). Then there are sites out there that talk about French women's tiny (compared to American women) wardrobes and their habit of buying quality, not quantity. The "ten item wardrobe" is a catch-phrase being thrown about.

I'm not even close to 100 possessions or 10 wardrobe items---but think about a rule of 10, for example. Do you really need more than 10 of anything? Seriously? Ten pairs of shoes. Ten towels. Ten tools. Ten pots and pans. Ten toiletries. The possibilities are endless.

I'm faced every day with the fact that I am one of those awful consumers who buys lots and lots of crap I really don't need, stick it in a drawer, and then end up giving it away later.

Living where there is so little choice for shopping, where online shopping is excruciating, where the mail is freakishly irregular, actually helps curb those urges to shop out of boredom (or even necessity).

But more than material objects, I'm also giving up the time I spent on so many other things that caused me stress.

No more leaving home at 7 am, getting home at 6 pm. No more sitting in traffic, trying not to get angry or frustrated. No more having my son be the last kid picked up at after-school care---again---because I work in one town and live in another. No more missing my kids' activities because I am commuting or working.

Don't get me wrong---there are some stresses. Instead of working one location with a partner and an assistant, both of whom I depended on for so much, I am by myself and split between two locations. Did I mention I'm by myself? And I work at two locations? Yep, so that's rough.

But the time I save allows me to balance where I'm going to be on what day, and gives me time (while I'm actually at work and not at home---what a concept!) to let everyone know when I'm going to be where. And my desk is *gasp* actually organized and clean for once in my career.

The same Buddha, springtime in Texas 2012

The concept of letting go is not new to me. 

I just feel like, for once, I'm finally following it. 

Fourteen years ago, shortly after having my first son, I tried to make sense of the new chaos in my life and sort of stumbled upon Buddhism. 

My favorite book I've read--and reread at least four times---is Lama Surya Das' Awakening the Buddha Within. No matter what your religious or spiritual beliefs are, Buddhism offers lessons about life and mindful living that can enrich anyone. 

One of the Noble Truths is "Life is Hard." Seriously---how can you not want to know more with a philosophy that tells you like it is? 

And guess what causes life to be difficult? Attachment to material possessions. 

All these damn boxes in my house are making my life difficult. I can't move around because of them, and I can't think of doing anything but getting them unpacked and sorted. 

So I'm trying to make life easier and I'm trying to give away my possessions. And by "giving away," I don't mean just a box or two---I mean giving away an entire closet worth of clothes. Boxes and boxes of extra linens. Lots of toys the kids haven't missed since we've been here.  

Once I went two months on a week and a half's worth of clothes, my boxes of clothes seem very unnecessary. I can live with so much less. 

And please don't think that I'm speaking as this enlightened being who doesn't have some attachment issues---I'm having the damndest time getting rid of several things because I suffer horribly from sentimentality. That box of letters my Granny wrote me while I was a college kid? I'm never getting rid of those. Ever. When I'm dead and gone, my kids are going to have to wade through her indecipherable wanderings about clouds and  neurotic pet poodles and what she cooked for lunch and "Why don't you ever write me?" (She was going senile---I wrote her---often---but she still chastised me in all her letters). Like my hundreds of books, I'm all warm and fuzzy inside just knowing they are in the house. 

Onwards to 2013---purge, purge, purge, and give it away. 

I already feel lighter.