For the first time since moving into this apartment, sitting at my desk feels spacious and comfortable. I have been deleting items from my internal hard drives, metaphorically speaking. Emptying drawers, pulling out out cabinet guts. All in all, facing the music.
So many things I thought I never could part with, or that I would re-sell, soon to be gobbled up by my favorite charity shops, then on to a New Home, where they can be someone else’s precious junk. The impact of parting with so many previously precious objects echoes through my daily life in ways that are both subtle and deep.
Stripping my mothers apartment triggered what I am doing now. It consumed me emotionally, but also creatively. Required to perform a ritual for which I felt unqualified, I emptied her last dwelling with as much seriousness and humor as I could. What I found at the end of that exercise was a kind of dead reckoning for what was important to me. Before, I could not decide where to start or what to do. I still don’t really know, in any conscious way. But preparing my mother’s home for our new life together, after her death, where the only place she lives is with me, demanded an equal effort on my part. I have had to clean up my act.
The way some women fold linens and sweep, manically driven to finish their nest before the baby comes, my subconscious is preparing me to go somewhere. I don’t know where. Nothing I have in this home is necessary there, except a few things which, pieced together, form a jigsaw puzzle picture of my heart. I love it here, but loving where I’m headed comes first, and to get there, it is time to travel light.