The Moving of the Crap

A couple of years ago KK and I started talking about making this big change, and we started taking concrete steps to head down this big path.  They were easy things at first and they seemed theoretical, implausible, unlikely.  It was like we were going to take the space shuttle to the moon.  A cool idea but never going to happen.

We started in our basement, a repository of fear based items.  We had a big, old house with a big basement and it was easy to chuck stuff down the stairs and close the door.  And the space attracted the junk of relatives, too, who used it as a free storage pod for the crap they didn't want any more and were too afraid to get rid of.  We had stuff that we hadn't used for 20 years.  We had moved it and moved and moved it even though it was clear we were never going to use it ever again.  We had stuff that was perfect for a house with a big deck.  We didn't have a big deck any more.

So we moved a big pile of the stuff into a corner and called one of the local halfway houses who came out and took it all, and seemed grateful for the donation.  It hurt a little seeing it go.  I'd think: "I paid this much for that thing I have no use for anymore and will never use ever again, and I'm just giving it away?"  A few days later I didn't remember what crap I had gotten rid of.  Clearly, it was unimportant crap to me, but had some use for someone else.

The point is that it had a lightening effect, and a sobering one, too.  It felt real, tangible.  I imagined that I was telling god what I wanted to do, and god was saying: "OK, get started and see what happens.  I haven't made my mind up yet and if I have, I'm not going to tell you what I've come up with."

I hate it when god does that.