The Barn, ii

I stopped worrying about the feelings of inanimate objects long ago.

Despite past accumulations, most now purged, I've never actually been
terribly sentimental. When I put boxes of things up in the attic of
the garage at age 10, I felt guilty and horrible for relegating gifts
from people I loved to an existence crammed with other pieces of crap
in cardboard that I couldn't bear to send to Goodwill. I didn't like
hurting the feelings of those hideous or strange objects but at some
point in my life I learned that it is more selfish to keep what you
don't want/appreciate than it is to send it back into the universe to
be used more purposefully. Whether it's recycling handmade gifts or
putting Grandma's black & yellow sweater with STARS on it in the
Goodwill bin, the items get put back into the universe's grand
exercise of rotation...instead of choking the life out of everything
around them.

I think even as a child, I was considering objects in terms I still do
today (though now I have to sift through years of complicated
reasoning processes to determine the bottom line.) I think I've
always seen myself as some sort of observer or storyteller, a 3rd
party perhaps, to most of my own life's experiences. I have believed
that the presentation of a well timed prop can truly make a tale
unforgettable. There have been occasions where I've pulled out a
letter or a photo and believed that the act of doing so engineered
something valuable. What I've learned from these occasions is that
the story I tell when I reveal my "hand" is not my story. By saving
these artifacts, I am distracting myself from understanding and
accepting details from my own story.

So, these days, I think a lot about the story I speak in the things I
keep, carry and reveal. I worry about my legacy and whether it is
both gentle and clear enough to be either relevant...or negligible
Either is really quite fine.

It is less difficult now to think about my "footprint" knowing that,
should I be so fortunate, my children will have to bear whatever
legacy I leave. I have choices in this process and I want to be more
deliberate with how I manage what stands to be inherited. From
material assets to ideological ones, I need to be more intentional
with my choices.

All this, so far, to simply say that what stands in my way of "seeing
the moon" stands in my kids' way too. I need to make the way clear,
certainly for myself, but more importantly, for them.

Status Update

Right now, I am focused on the physical aspects of my "barn." I've
been honing my ability to properly simplify my space for almost 3
decades. I understand that the philosophical nature of this pursuit
is integral to sustaining simplicity as a lifestyle and I do feel that
both - the philosophical and the material - are truly within reach.
This feels like a big deal. I am sensing that certain obstacles which
have burdened me in the past are not simply being shoved aside or
prioritized down but rather that they are suspended happily somewhere
(though unheavily) in my mind.

The current purging tactics are to liberate items I didn't know I even
had as well as those I wouldn't want right now if I didn't have
them. Items such as airplane blankets (yes, that's plural), serving
tray, a million plastic Asian soup spoons (for when I had time to
dream up and make amuse-bouche), etc. I also keep reminding myself
what life might be like in 250 sq ft and try hard to purge accordingly.

My biggest hang up is saving various containers that COULD be useful
in organizing, schlepping stuff around, etc. I have an area that's
designed to allow me a limited amount of space for such things (I
can't quit cold turkey) but sometimes I make new piles that grow and
grow. This weekend I filled the recycle bins so containers are under
control again. I also loaded the 4 boxes and giant plastic bag of
stuff for goodwill into the car so the house feels cleaner but
certainly not done. We de plan a burning for the vernal equinox next
week so I am aiming to be closer to done by then. I plan to finally
print the photos I've been saving. With them I think I can do a basic
but visual feng shui of the home space.

Our space is getting easier to maintain as items finally truly find a
home. I can tell we're on track because I'm back to eagerly preparing
meals and wanting to venture out. While our meals are far from
elaborate they are incredibly more healthful than ever before.
Venturing out still inspires some anxiety but I feel more ready than
in times past, especially having identified what I want to feel when I
come home and working on the front end to achieve that feeling.

The Barn, i

From where I stand I can almost see "the moon." The barn is what
stands in my way and it is not just a physical structure in an
environmental space but it is also a mental and emotional jungle gym
of haphazard ideas, unfinished dreams and distorted expectations.

My barn today is becoming the diminished version of everything I've
ever built up and it is, quite frankly, slow going. I am working at
undoing years of thinking in terms of sentiment and possibility,
instead of in terms of utility and ease which I privilege in this
case. I struggle between valuing the art of creative expression that
both memorializes and endears AND the value of clarity and
consideration in acts of intention. For some reason, these seem to
diverge and can't both be recognized sufficiently or equitably in a
single endeavor.

For most of my life I have failed to adhere to the design commandment
that "form follow function" and instead have defaulted to employing
techniques, both actual and cognitive, that pull from the material and
mental scraps I've accumulated over time. I believe I am being
economical in this strategy and moreover, wise for acquiring a
collection of haphazardness and finding some (often) Lot 49ish way of
threading them together that even Pynchon would probably deem
desperate at best. Still, despite how desperate my attempt, this
strategy has felt most honest and true, most likely because it allows
me to expect (and get) less than I fear I deserve.

It is only in recent months that I have started to recognize that in
this kind of pursuit I am articulating that I believe I am worth
nothing more than a collection of scraps; that any visible record of
myself be in uneven segments; that my choices are only as valuable as
the piecemeal logic that I use to make them.

I recognize this and I don't accept it anymore.

The Light

I recently had the great privilege to be driving the only vehicle sitting at a red light in an intersection at 3 in the morning. There were no other cars but mine. There were no people anywhere.

The moonlight scattered through some clouds above me but essentially every other direction was dark. I asked myself: "Why is it you choose to move uncertainly through the dark when you can clearly see the path toward the light?" (That sounds a touch religious, doesn't it? I suppose pursuing this kind of lifestyle could very well be religious; it is certainly one steeped in dogma.)

There was one major source of light as I sat in the intersection and when I shifted into gear, I drove what felt to be parallel to rather than toward it. For some reason this struck me.

I feel that what it is I'm seeking is in plain sight and the obstacle between us is my resolve. I've been compelled toward the dark only because it's familiar; it's conditioned. I'm compelled toward the dark because my eyes have already adjusted.

I want more clarity in my world and in order to have it, I need to take myself out of gear, look to the light and shift in a way that makes sense, instead of in a way that feels expected.

If I take myself out of gear for a moment; if I disengage, I can try and define where I sit these days. So in the next post, if I can muster the courage, I'll paint for you my Barn...or what's in the way of the moon...or all the noise that fills what should be an empty space.

No Thoreau

So this past week, "I went to the woods" but not "because I wished to live deliberately." I am, generally speaking, not a fan of the woods. While the proliferation of life is natural and interesting, I find all of it a bit aggressive and much too haphazard. I also have, what some might deem irrational, fears of people lying in wait to attack. Wild, angry animals whose home I'm intruding upon I'm not keen on but they don't scare me as much as what kind of folks might choose to be lurking among them. Bottom line: there are simply too many places to hide in the woods. A visit now and then, during the day, can be quite nice. Nights spent in the middle of it, not so much.

This was to be a post describing my "barn" or that which is in the way of the moon and while I'm not starting with what I'd intended, this week's stay in the woods proved fruitful for this occasion. We weren't "roughing it" by any stretch but I was beyond my comfort zone in more ways than one. I don't camp, mainly because canopy, tarp or whatever as the only barrier between me and the world while I sleep is unthinkable. We actually stayed in a cabin which was much like a modern home save for the lack of cell service. We stayed on a ranch so we had neighbors and weren't near as isolated as I feared we might be. I didn't choose to stay at this place, my in-laws were in town and had access to the space and invited us to join them.

The ranch is located near Payson which is about 100 miles outside of the valley. The drive up through is lovely, filled with gorgeous rocks and impressive saguaros. The cacti were so great in number that they appeared like soldiers marching up parts of the mountains.

We packed last minute Monday and arrived before sunset. With 2 small kids, 1 of whom was becoming quite sick, there were all kinds of bags and gear that filled our vehicle. Since we were driving and had no weight limit to restrict us, I thought it important to be prepared enough to prevent even a modicum of panic. Of course I brought too much but it wasn't bad to have too much this time.

Here's what I learned about my quest to see the moon from my stay at the cabin:

The cabin was equipped with standard American living essentials and anything that wasn't there that we thought we needed/wanted, we did without or we improvised. I think I can do without a lot of things but it is this act of improvising that I find so valuable and really want to incorporate more of in my life.

While I carried a bin of paperwork, there were few ways to be "productive." Our days revolved around jaunts into nature, conversation, and meals. In fact, I might estimate that the bulk of our time was spent preparing a meal, eating it and cleaning up after it. Between the children and their developing illness, there was little dedicated true leisure or reading or writing time. The presence of television was somewhat of a novelty (as we watch our programming online at home) but the bombardment of commercials disrupted any enjoyment we might have sought (although the "Topsy - Turvy Planter" was a motivating DIY idea).

Here are what I consider some of the solid take-aways from this past trip for my current journey, many of which are affirmations of observations past:

Kids don't need toys or games. Books, paper, pen/pencil/crayons and an energetic, creativity, willing companion can provide hours of entertainment.

Matching sets of items make things visually plain and therefore easier to prepare and execute certain tasks.

Walks *are* a productive way to spend time.

Reading aloud should incorporate books all members of the family are interested in hearing.

More attention should be paid to the act of "breaking bread" and all hands should be involved somehow in the prep and clean up.

We may return someday to consciously pursue leisure time of reading and writing but for now, as with all relatively challenging experiences, this one was for learning. From now on, of things, I'll try to remember to ask myself: "Will this do at the cabin?

Next post should focus more on my barn of today.

The Moon

"What do you give up in order to grow?" Judith Viorst, I think, wrote this and it has stayed with me for several years, often serving as a refrain during the periods of my life where I feel static.

In my quest for a simpler way to move through the universe, I've caught glimpses of the moon and the vision has taken my breath away. Sustaining the power of these instances is a challenge and in order to do so, I must constantly remind myself of the beauty that is beyond the "barn." I get swept up in having things rather than in using them and the difference is important. The choice between accumulation and utilization determines the size of that which stands between me and what's both beautiful and free.

For me, that which is both beautiful & free is multidimensional. It includes addressing these areas:

SENTIMENTALITY: The elimination of a need or desire for sentimentality in the form of stuff: I want to focus on the making of a memory versus the token of it.

SPACE: Mise en place: I want to have everything in its place and have nothing left over. I want to know exactly what I have all the time.

CONSUMPTION: Limited consumption (in an effort to be more self-sustaining): I want to spend less time shopping-spending (and thinking about shopping-spending.) I ultimately want to shop-spend 2-4 times a year (for all regularly consumed goods) and stress less over what what my/our perceived needs are. I want to grow and preserve some of my family's food. I want to spend less time wanting and more time doing.

HOME: A vacation home: I want our home to feel like a vacation getaway. I want our space to be our sanctuary, a refuge, an escape; all that happy jazz but even more still I want to figure out what it is I'm actually paying for when we go on a vacation and figure out a way to have it, on the home front, all the time. I want our home to rejuvenate each of us. I do not want our home to merely be a storage place for goods. I want our home to be the place we each find center. I want our home to be the place where we each gather the strength and vision necessary to be responsible and innovative participants in our community.

Next post: The Here and Now (or what my barn looks like today)

The Facts

"Is it so small a thing to have enjoyed the sun, to have lived light in the spring, to have loved, to have thought, to have done, to have advanced true friends?" I just read this quote in _The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society_ and feel it resonates so deeply with where I am this very moment, especially as I reflect on space, place and time.

Here's what's true about me:

I've always been a binger and purger - of stuff. For the last few years, I manage at least 1 trip to Goodwill per month. I always feel I have too much stuff but the relief I seek from it remains elusive, no matter how much I eliminate.

I have always been an avid collector of empty vessels in hopes of finally achieving organizational nirvana.

I've bought bins, saved boxes, collected tins, and have rarely allowed any container to move into the recycling bin without first assessing it's potential as the perfect organizational device. Right now I think I am at all all time low of empty vessels (which are full of potential, of course) and I'd estimate that I have about 150 unused vessels of various sizes. They are waiting to be made into gifts, drawer dividers, keeper of seasonal items or holding cells as the case, quite shamefully, often is.

I have made a habit of organizing rather than simplifying.

I have made a habit of pursuing frugal choices instead of essential ones.

I have used "creativity" as an excuse to keep the possibly salvageable.

I have judged others critically based on the life I haven't yet truly begun to live.

I have read many articles and books about simplifying and organizing. I haven't found any single piece of information that crystallizes my bottom line in this journey. Many approaches have been useful for a spell but none has propelled me continuously.

I have studied feng shui and deem parts of it useful (for me) (note - *before* it became a pop culture sensation.)

I have confused living simply with cheap living.

I believe that the answer to a great many of my unhappinesses lies in the simplifying of my environment, for in it is my entire world.

Next post: The Moon (or what it is I hope to "see")

Suburban Simplicity

Apparently there's an old Japanese saying that goes:

My barn having burned

to the ground.

I could see the moon.

There is and there also isn't a thought provoking metaphor in these 12 words though each reading makes clear a reflection that is more than reflection.

The non metaphor seems to be: Barns, built by humans to contain their possessions and to contain that which allows us to accumulate possessions, get in the way of seeing the light that shines in the dark.

The metaphor might be: Your crap collection, material and otherwise, is big and it's limiting your sense of the world, your sense of self and the integrity that binds you. Trust that when the crap is cleared, in its place will be greatness and light. F-R-E-E greatness and light!

I haven't a barn but I do have crap. Crap as sentimentality, crap as items "just in case," crap as guilt, crap as insecurity, crap as "dreams deferred," and crap that with a makeover might someday, in the right light, possibly be non-crap.

This is my endeavor to, pardon the pun, burn that sh**.

I've decided to create a dedicated space for my journey toward a version of voluntary simplicity. The barn I need to burn was built from years of poor choice making, desperation, rationalization, greed, envy and guilt.

I have long pursued living the life that would leave "nothing left over." I am aware of some of my obstacles but others remain elusive. I hope that by documenting this "burning," I'll see not only what I couldn't before but release some of the burdens that have kept me from being free.

Next post: The Facts