Clearing Space
Two weeks ago I began a program called “A Year to Clear What is Holding You Back,” based on a book w/ a similar titled by Stephanie Bennett
Vogt. The course is very simple: every
day I get an online insight or a short assignment dealing w/ my attachments. The method is purposely slow- to evaluate the
meaning and usefulness of the “stuff” in our lives and minds, and to clear that
which is no longer useful, beautiful or meaningful. The key is to keep it simple- it might be as tiny
as moving a paperclip into a drawer or getting rid of one item of clothing, but
when done with intention, each task leads me to consider my attachment to other
items. The key to the whole process rests
on revealing space in our minds by raising our awareness of our attachments
that tie us down, and releasing our attachments without judgment or
self-loathing.
Lately I’ve been considering a bag of cards I’d kept since
childhood. I no longer save cards unless
they have meaning. Last year I took a
cue from a great-grandmother I’d never met, whose cupboard I’d inherited (which
had come from Missouri w/ her and her parents and siblings in a covered wagon
over 100 years ago) was lined with newspaper clippings and pretty lithographs
she’d tacked there during her life. I hung
many of my favorite cards inside the doors of an old cupboard I use as a
dresser, where I see and enjoy them every day.
Many are handmade collage masterpieces by my daughter Shayna, each a
work of art which took her many hours to make.
The time and thought that went into the front of each card –let alone
the sentiment note inside- makes me feel loved. When I compare these cards to
the ones in the bag baring only hand-written names of the giver and receiver,
it puts things into perspective.
The bag of cards lay in a nearly empty drawer of a primitive
dresser; while it wasn’t actually consuming much space physically, it was taking
up space in my head. I dove in,
spreading them out on the living room floor into piles of “keep,” “consider,”
or “trash.”
Who was this little girl who kept these cards? They made her feel special and loved. They provided external validation that
someone thought enough of her to spend a quarter on a card and a 15-cent
stamp to keep in touch. That girl loved looking at the art on the cards. I laughed to see several birthday cards from Gerald B. Cherry, an insurance agent I don’t
remember, but his secretary certainly remembered me every year. Imagine how
many birthday cards with his typed moniker must have been sent from his office over
the years- I bet mine were the last ones in existence.
The "trash" stack grew as I thumbed through the cards. I found several keepers, like a birthday card with a longhorn calf in watercolor that I remembered staring at as a first-grader, thinking, “I want to do that!” A high school graduation card from Mary Rathkamp acknowledged and encouraged my dreams to be an artist. Mary later commissioned my first big piece, which got me going again with art in 1997. It surprised me that she’d validated and supported my goals much earlier than I’d remembered. Another surprise were the tiny notes on the backs of classmates’ school photos- many spoke of following my dreams as an artist. Going through the bag made me remember who I was and what I’d longed for at an early age, and made me happy that I stuck with my dreams.
There were treasures hidden in the plethora of
mass-produced, disposable affection: When my grandma died last month I couldn’t
find a single photo of us together, but there in the bag was one from when I
was about a year old; she was showing me a picture book. There were tiny square photos of my mom as a
young woman and my dad in Vietnam. Sorting
through this collection raised my
awareness of who I was, what I’d needed, and who I’d wanted to become. I easily released
that which no longer held meaning for me, and placed the reduced stack back
into the dresser, revealing a
clearer and more spacious place inside my psyche.