A Place Defined
Do you make your place or does your place make you?
Do you define your place? Or does your place define you? This could be open to a broad interpretation about anything in your life. It could be your physical place of residence, it could be your journey in life, it could be job related, it could be your spiritual journey or all of the above. All of the above is a pretty heavy head load to handle, so I will focus on just one thing.
As I sit in my home in Idaho, I look around and see the progressive, yet slowly ending accumulation of a life well lived. I do not need any more “things”. I have the assurance that if there is some tool, kitchen gadget or whatchamacallit, chances are I have it. Or, I have had it and am well rid of it because I know I don’t need it.
I am an eclectic gatherer of physical manifestations; of trips taken, memories made and ancestors. I surround myself with things that evoke beautiful memories. I live in a place I was blessed enough to help envision and build with my own 2 hands. Be aware that I am not taking credit for any of this…it has been a divine life and I give full acclaim to God, who orchestrated my journey. But, now with much reflection, I enter a new season of my life. I am surrounded by memories here. It is not like living The Salt Life in Florida. Florida is a clean slate. The Refuge in Idaho is the polar opposite. Let’s call it The Sage Life. I pick up a book I bought when we lived in England 35 years ago and it brings me joy that I had that experience. Everywhere is a memory and I am beyond grateful.
But, it also bring to the forefront a question of how much baggage do I really need to live and be happy? I have found out that I can live without the chattels of my journey. I do not know how long I can do that, but I can do it. Salt Life is full of bike rides, days spent on the beach, swimming with wild manatees and dolphins, new friends from all over the country, exploration and just being us; a husband and wife who are rediscovering what connected them in the first place. The connection was never MIA, it was just refocused upon the daily grind of making the merry go round.
So, here I sit writing this, listening to one of my favorite sounds; the rare Idaho rain pattering on the metal roof. The metal roof that this girl helped put on. And…I was not a fan of heights. It is amazing what one can accomplish when fear is not an option. And your spouse is not a fan of hired help. *Cough*
For the first time in my life I understand how people can call an auction house and get rid of “stuff”. I can only imagine the feeling of people showing up and my possessions being sold to the highest bidder and walking away with a fistful of dollars. I am mentally assessing the value of everything in sight and wondering if someone would pay good hard cash for my memories. And, could I bear to see them go? Are the actual memories enough to keep me going, or do I need the physical reminder of a honeymoon trip to Kenya and Tanzania? Will there be a day when I won’t remember that first sight of a wild elephant at the water hole? No..I do not claim that future. Ever. But, sometimes you can’t help where your mind will take you.
I have the assurance that there will always be something to read within easy reach, whether it be a recent magazine or a book that has been read before, but the plot long forgotten, so as to make it new-to-me again. Reading is a familiar old friend who silently slips in on a paper medium, instead of the all too routine screen to which we have become accustomed. And, I am surrounded by old friends. Could I bear to see them go? I know I can bear to be without them. I know I can live in a place where I am not surrounded by my tangible memories, but for how long?
I think when you are used living an independent lifestyle, you rely upon yourselves for the everyday tasks that city folk and suburbanites take for granted. Making the change to dependence upon unknown persons to keep your water flowing or disappearing your garbage is a large leap. Could I live without this feeling of dread when the snows of winter melt and the mess of last fall slowly appears? Could I live without pulling another noxious weed? Could I live without ever mowing the lawn again? Yup to all of the above. I can see beyond the horizon a little bit and it doesn’t involve the physicality of keeping up with an earth that is slowly vying with me to take back what I have so diligently kept at bay.
Maybe I should just let it all go this summer and see what happens. Haha! As if I will have a choice. The weeds will be pulled and the lawn will be mowed here. But I am not the fan I once was of the mandatory hard scrabble chores that I have enjoyed in the past. Things are shifting under my feet and in my head. Knowing how to put new shear bolts into a snow blower on the back of a tractor is a rare skill for the female persuasion, but it is a skill I have. I have blown snow in -25 degree weather for days on end, until the driveway was a narrow passage like something out of The Shining. Can I live without ever blowing snow again? Yup. No problemo. Stay tuned.