There's stuff and then there's stuff . . .

SWANS by Mary Oliver from Evidence (Beacon Press)
They appeared
   over the dunes,
      they skimmed the trees
         and hurried on

to the sea
   or some lonely pond
      or wherever it is
         that swans go,

urgent, immaculate,
   the heat of their eyes
      staring down
         then away,

the thick spans
   of their wings
      as bright as snow,
         their shoulder-power

echoing
   inside my own body.
      How could I help but adore them?
         How could I help but wish

that one of them might drop
   a white feather
     that I should have
         something in my hand

to tell me
   that they were real?
      Of course
         this was foolish.

What we love, shapely and pure,
   is not to be held,
      but to be believed in.
         And then they vanished, into the unreachable distance.

A few days ago a friend sent me a link to an article from the business section of The New York Times entitled "You Probably Have Too Much Stuff."  Written by Carl Richards, it's a short reflection on the cost of attachment to possessions. Richards was inspired by the story of Andrew Hyde, who reduced his worldly goods to a mere fifteen essential items.

In his own attempt to rid himself of extraneous possessions, Richards decided to begin by getting rid of fifteen things, mainly outdated clothes.  He goes on to recommend this formula that he used when evaluating his effects:

• Why exactly do you own what you own?

• What could you get rid of and not miss?

• Do I really still need that?

• What is it costing me to own that?

What really struck me about this article was the last question in particular.  Richards, a financial planner, naturally focuses on cost in terms of . . . well, money.  He mentions how acquiring possessions can lead to the need to acquire places to keep those possessions.  He wonders about the time lost to thinking about getting rid of an old tie in his closet rather than actually doing so each time he came across it while getting dressed.  And of course, as any good financial planner will tell you, time is money. 

It got me to thinking about how the article might be different if it was written by a spiritual director or life coach instead of a financial planner.  And the answer I came up with is not much different.  The questions Richards asks are good ones in terms of the whys and whats.  It's simply the cost/benefit perspective that skews differently.  Instead of pointing out the tax benefits of downsizing and donating the stuff we don't need, such an article might mention the spiritual/psychological benefits that we gain when we let go of attachments. 

As I wrote in this post earlier this year, I get the periodic impulse to purge.  Although my goal isn't to get down to fifteen items (surely books would be excluded from that number, and lipstick, and ballet flats, and sparkly vintage earrings) I do find it helpful to periodically go through my possessions, see what I'm still holding on to that doesn't fit me anymore-- literally or figuratively-- and figure out the why behind that. Examining my stuff helps me examine my stuff. 

Maybe this is one reason it takes me so long to clean my room, the basement, etc.  I'm not just cleaning house, I'm cleaning my psyche.

Donald Duck's brain from the classic Disney cartoon
Donald Duck in Mathmagic Land
I always related to this image, even as a child.