I’ll be perusing that last link some more, but it got me to yearning and reflecting.
Even before we realized that our life intends change dramatically, even before we realized that we’d be moving into a studio apartment above our parents’ garage, even before the events in our life that caused us to cling to our little family like the life raft that it is…
…even before all that, I’ve been dreaming of living in a small space. Of being bold enough to cast off all the knick-knacks and clutter that weigh down my brain. Of being content and happy with these people with whom I share my home without trying to fill any void with things.
It’s a tantalizing reality. A step-by-step goal. I make a bit of an idol out of this goal, wanting a disaster to strip me of my things so I don’t have to weed through them. And then I feel terrible guilt because people lose everything through disasters, both natural and unnatural, and it is not the fantasy of dispossessing that I imagine. My lazy-ness, though, can’t help but jaunt down that “what if” lane.
It’s funny, really, and a God-construct, that I need as much help to simplify and be poor gracefully as I would need to be rich and benevolent gracefully.