All The Little Things

We accumulate so many things as humans. I admire how animals can move, live, and take care of their young with just food and a few twigs to lay on. I've always thought of myself as a minimalist. However, while packing for our move to San Diego, one thing became abundantly clear. I may have very little decor and trinkets from history, but they were attached to my very heartstrings, and I didn't even know it. 

A few months ago, I made a moving to-do list on Trello.com (thank you, Bonnie for introducing me to it!). Sidenote: Trello looks complicated. The first time Bonnie showed it to me on a shared screen I thought, umm no. I have enough things going on, and I don't need to see the method to my madness illustrated online, only to reveal that I am one virtual Post-it away from glitching and shutting down. I have a lot to do... all the time. That's the funny thing about being a parent and working full-time. Even when I'm bored -- that just means I'm avoiding housework. Needless to say, once I learned how to create what is called a "Board" on Trello, my thought life was changed for the better. Trello helped me discover that my plan of productivity should "live" somewhere that I can see online. This way, sometimes I can actually... *pause for suspense* not think about what I have to do. But, I digress. 

On the Trello board, I listed all of the things I wasn't going to take with us and it basically went like this: If I haven't worn it in a year, and/or it doesn't fit in my suitcase -- Goodwill. Goodbye. 

This was easy to type online, but painful to do in real life. Have you ever thought about something you had to do and it felt effortless in your head, then when it came time to actually act upon it, you were stricken with emotions that froze you still as a picture frame? Sadness, memories, and a silent sigh confront your salient strategy with three words... feel this moment.

Some of my belongings held free rent space in my mind of things I love. A few to mention were my mugs. I love coffee and coffee mugs even more. I collected many throughout the years and even kept the chipped ones because hey, we're all chipped somewhere. 

Each one had a special memory and I couldn't just drink out of any coffee mug in the morning. No, the words on the mug were my mantra for the day. My favorites were the ones that read, "When Prayers Go Up Blessings Come Down", "Cat Mom" and a blue and white mug that had no words but looked like where the shore meets the ocean.

After all, we are made of dust and 60% water. When I drank from it, I was instantly reminded that my frequency is the sound of the ocean. 

I loved the artwork of my company logo that I printed on a 3x5 foot canvas and placed on the wall behind my office desk. 

As a matter of fact, when I took it off the wall, I thought to myself, this stings. I adored my typewriter. It wasn't actually a working typewriter but a prop. I loved looking at it. The keys reminded me how much stories are life's decorations.

It's how we see the beauty in the past and future. How we define our present and visualize hope. It's all a story. 

These little things had immense sentimental value to me. I wouldn't dare sell them and haggle over prices. No one could afford them. The mugs would be a million dollars each. My logo? Easily ten times more. That's why I took them to Goodwill. Because when something is priceless, the next acceptable currency is appreciation. I hope the people who obtain these things love them the way I did. 

My Midlothian home is now just a story. Holidays and birthdays, and dinner table laughter. All swirling around in a time capsule called 'remember that one time?'

I decided not to bring most of my things because I am pouring new wine into new wineskins. I will always remember the little things I loved about my home in Midlothian. However, I have learned that there are some stages that must be shed and others that need only mindful upkeep. The trinkets in my home were like a caterpillar's cocoon. They helped me feel myself in this lovely community. And now, I must let the cocoon dry up and become a part of the earth.

Walking around this empty home feels so surreal. Almost like if you got to walk past yourself in kindergarten or on graduation day. Existing in two different worlds is such a special feeling. Because it means that you're growing. It's like climbing on a ladder. At one point, your feet will be touching both where you were and where you're going. 

The wonderful thing is that we are growing as a family together. My daughters and I have lived in so many places. We've slept on a two-seater couch during a brief period of homelessness. We moved to Ohio and shared a bed in the home of a distant friend. We rented a studio apartment with only enough room to cook and complain about our limited space. We moved to a haunted one-bedroom apartment and survived the spookiest events, which forced me to tap into my inner man -- turns out he wasn't there. So many experiences, as I navigated being their protector and provider. 

One thing that is as true today as it was then, wherever we are together... is home.