Just Breathe

This afternoon I had one of those experiences that make all of us cringe when we hear about it happening to someone else. My hard drive crashed – hard. And no, I don’t back up.

Until fairly recently, this kind of disaster would have precipitated a meltdown and maybe even tears. It was my work laptop, but I kept a lot of personal files and emails on it. I had account data, old quotes, orders, proposals and emails going back to 2001. I had outlines, character sketches, some short stories and about 22,000 words of a draft novel. I knew I’d sent the draft and one short story to a writing partner to read, so it was pretty likely I could get them back. Losing the rest didn’t bother me nearly as much as I thought it would and that surprised me a little and then I understood why.

In the spring of 2004 Scott’s mother was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. She died three months later. Within two weeks, we moved from Colorado to New Hampshire because my father had been diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer and we wanted to spend what time we could with him. He died two months after Scott’s mother did.

In the weeks before our parents died, all of the petty day to day issues that had kept me in a driven, intense state for so long evaporated. The things that were important suddenly crystallized into a sharp, quiet focus and I was calm. There wasn’t much to think about anymore. My family and the people I love were the only things that mattered. The job I’d completely dedicated myself to wasn’t important, being available to answer emails immediately on my Blackberry and take cell phone calls 24/7 wasn’t important, the house I lived in and how it was decorated wasn’t important. There was very little that was.

That was an extraordinary time and our families pulled together into a tiny circle that sealed out all the noise. Eventually we all had to go back into the world and participate. But during that time, I felt the power of knowing that almost all of the things we worry about are completely insignificant in the bigger picture of our lives. I meditated on that thought one night in my father’s hospital room and willed myself to hold onto that feeling and remember what it felt like. I knew that as we put more distance between ourselves and those profound and immediate feelings, we’d slip back into the current of our normal lives and once again become annoyed, afraid, worried, and angry about things that didn’t really matter. It was inevitable. But I promised myself that I would try to remember often, how it felt to be in the moment and what that awareness was like.

Did I go back to my old way of thinking and feeling? Yes and no. I stopped putting my work in front of everything else in my life for good. Old habits are hard to break and I’ve gotten stressed out plenty of times over work and moving and all kinds of things that we have to deal with in the course of living. I’ve lost sight of that feeling I had in the fall of 2004 lots of times. But I’m getting better at remembering to just breathe and think about how I felt then and it works.

Clearing the Clutter

I was still on a business call when the clutter in my office overcame me and I pulled all the books out of their shelves. There are three six foot bookshelves here; two in my office and one in the living room. When I unpacked in July, I crammed books onto the shelves as they came out of the boxes with no regard for the natural order of things. Before we moved to Colorado from New Hampshire I gave away all but the books I felt I had to keep and all the movies on VHS tapes. Books and movies are heavy and really, were they worth dragging across the country twice?

Where does all this stuff come from? It was chaos. Seymour Hirsch was next to Christopher Moore; Faulkner, Rushdie and the Fodor’s Guide to Northern California were side by side; Chuck Palahniuk was scattered between all three bookcases; and writing how-to books were cozied up with Updike, Robbins and Mastering the Complex Sale!

Clutter paralyzes me and I’ve fought my packrat instincts all my life. I’ve also been nomadic and left a lot of things behind.

Weeks ago when I bought Rightsizing Your Life, Simplifying Your Surroundings While Keeping What Matters Most I was ready to start right in on the spring cleaning, but until yesterday I didn’t know where the book was.

I can live without just about everything I own. I learned that a few years ago when I moved into a one bedroom apartment. I brought only my clothes, bought the things I really needed and I lived in that tiny apartment for a year. It was cozy and the truth is I didn’t need much and I always knew exactly where everything was. I had space to think.

Of all the things I’ve lost or given away over the years, I never missed any of them, except some old photos I lost in a divorce. Some years later I look back and realize losing those pictures taught me that material sentimental attachments aren’t important. What I keep in my head and in my heart is what matters.

My friend Laura’s parents moved from a large home to a condo several years ago. Her father offered the family heirlooms to his children and then carefully photographed and catalogued all the things he loved before he got rid of them. What a brilliant alternative to keeping a basement full of boxes that never get unpacked.

Part of the grand life transition plan Scott and I have is to downsize/rightsize (does anyone else find the proliferation of new non-words a little annoying?) so maybe the two of us can someday move into a dwelling smaller than one that could shelter a family of six.

It’s been six years and five moves since I lived in my tiny, organized apartment and despite draconian purges before each move; we still can’t park in the garage. Saturday, all that will change. I am on the warpath to clear out the excess.

Note: Books and my collection of every Woody Allen movie released since 1969 are exempt.

If you had to reduce your worldly possessions down to the bare bones, what couldn’t you bear to part with?