Why Stuff Sucks – A Note on Simplicity

I've had a problem with stuff since time immemoriam (note to self – check to see if that's a real word).  I don't exactly know where my problem came from.  My parents weren't vast collectors.  We lived in a clean, nicely furnished home.  Maybe I was tramautized from my older brother stealing my binky (I have no proof but he just looks guilty) but I remember having collections going all the way back to kindergarten when my father would buy us a pack of sports cards after church every week. 

I was manic in collecting them, spending much of my allowance and completing sets.  I would sit there all day, on a rainy afternoon, sort them and resort them.  Sort them into teams, sort them into alphabetical order, sort them by players with facial hair and those without.  I spent so much time with my early collections that my brother used to be able to hold them up like flashcards, with the names covered, and I would be able to guess the names correctly with uncanny accuracy. 

Sadly that skill did not translate into adulthood.  I will most likely forget both your face and your name by the time you've taken three steps away from me at a party.  Sorry, I'm not a jerk, just don't have the knack for it anymore.

I went from cards to music after that.  CD's and Tapes, and I spent countless hours sorting those as well.  When I got my head out of the clouds, I started collecting books.  Loved sorting those into fiction, non-fiction, genres, alphabetized, Charley Decimal system (patent pending) etc.

Now I'm just flat out nauseated with myself for wasting so much time, money and opportunities tending to my collections. 

I get this way often, and I'd imagine it drives my beautiful bride batty, but the fact is, till I can come to terms with these things, there is nothing anyone can do.

I need to stop worshipping stuff.  Intellectually I know that the real importance is in valuing relationships and providing your gifts to the world.  If all I'm good at is identifying a 1977 Thurman Munson card, complete with Fu Manchu mustache and beard, then I've wasted my life.

My babies are here, and with that new responsibilities, new opportunities.  If I waste this, there won't be another opportunity.  My wife had a long hard road (which I will write about one day) to get to the point of parenthood.  It's a matter of unplugging from stuff, exhibiting a buddhist-like detachment to say, does any of this stuff matter more than my wife and three babies?

The answer is no.

As Scribe for this Tribe I want to spend the next six weeks before my babies come home from the hospital preparing for their arrival by clearing out the physical, mental and spiritual clutter, a Feng Shui enema (don't expect good metaphors this late at night) to make room for the unquestionably important. 

So one of my goals, in addition to gaining my health back, is to get my meditative mojo on and really figure out what's important, to assess everything I am, do, have, and pare it down to it's absolute essence.  It's a noble effort, maybe even a foolhardy one, but I figure if I give it a good honest shot, only good can come of it. 

Thanks for watching.

-Zen Charley