Home is not my stuff
These past couple of weeks I’ve been slowly dismantling the house. Bit by bit the house is being stripped of its personality and vibe of who we are as a family. The walls are bare and there is a hollowness now that wasn’t there before. And yet with each box I seal up I realize that none of the stuff I’m packing away is what made this house a home. My family went on ahead of me, my husband to work and my kids to spend a month with their grandparents, and they won’t be coming back here to this house. The emptiness I’m feeling isn’t because the stuff is disappearing but because the people I love the most are scattered across the country right now and I miss them. Home is wherever they are. All of this stuff I’ve spent more time than I care to count boxing up means absolutely nothing without them.
How much money have I wasted over the years trying to make a home when home was right there all along? How much time have I devoted to my stuff instead of to the people I love? As I get ready to move on to another chapter in my life, I so desperately want to remember this lesson. I long to slow down even more and embrace simplicity even further in order to really enjoy the people that matter the most to me. I think of my girlfriend who lost her 9 year old son almost one year ago and how much she would give to have just one more day with him, to hold him and to love on him. She’d give everything.
What is it about “stuff” that clogs life and keeps us from living it to the fullest?