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This - Is A Life

...My favorite pair of jeans
...My long sleeved shirt, so perfect on a gray day
...My glasses
...My comfortable shoes
...My keychain - kept to a bare minimum of keys
...My couch ("The Loveseat")
...My blue/beige rugs
...My small silver lamp, lighting my keyboard as I type
...My keyboard, wireless mouse, and the Mac they're connected to
...My Mac, which clearly deserves a line of its own
...My black & white Apple prints that line the walls of my home
...My home - which isn't mine at all, though I love it as if it were (I rent)
...My bike
...My funky wine rack
...My pots and pans that I so rarely use
...My thrift-store dresser that looks superb thanks to new drawer handles from Restoration Hardware

...I could go on and on...

These things are not who I am. They're just a collection of stuff. I know that's common sense, but, my, how quickly we forget the sense that is supposedly common - allowing ourselves to be trapped by our own possessions as if they matter.

It's just stuff.

If my apartment were to burn to the ground while I was away, I'd worry about the boys. Beyond that, it's just stuff. Oh sure, I'd curse a lot, but I'm probably going to do that anyway - fire or no fire.

It's not that I don't have some great stuff. I do. But, in the end, it's just stuff.

While walking around town last night, I passed by the Coffee People at the end of The South Park Blocks, and I thought about the last time I was in there. It was just a few weeks ago, but it felt like an eternity gone by.

It was early on a Saturday morning. A friend & I stopped at Coffee People for a quick waker-upper before heading to Salem to fetch her stuff & then move it into her new apartment in Portland.

I marveled that day at the many things my friend had collected - as if these things somehow represented her life.

Maybe they do.

But, last night, as I thought about how a day of hauling stuff began at the Coffee People I was now standing in front of, I thought about why I'd been there the previous time. On that morning, I wasn't headed to Salem to help a friend move her stuff to Portland. I was helping her move in with her boyfriend in Portland. The stuff being moved wasn't what the day was about. Not at all.

If stuff represents a life, love represents a life well lived.

::::: | Filed under: love
::::: | Posted Wednesday, Aug 25 2004 at 10:53 AM
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