It’s amazing to me how connected I am to my stuff. My things. My worldly possessions. It’s sad, really, and kind of embarrassing to admit. But, I have to say that when the movers left on Friday, and my house was suddenly quiet, and very empty, I felt lost and lonely. I felt like a huge part of me was missing. It was a very unsettling feeling.
How could I feel that way just because my stuff was gone? Why did it matter so much? Why did I feel lost? And why did I feel lonely?
Maybe it’s about my identity. I put my stamp on my home. It’s a direct reflection of who I am. It tells the story of my life in some way.
Maybe it’s about belonging. This has been my place to call home for a while now, and suddenly it doesn’t feel like home anymore. I feel misplaced.
Maybe it’s about comfort. Cozy couches and beds. Warm blankets. Family meals around the table.
Maybe it’s about all those things. What I hope it isn’t about are the things themselves, but rather what they represent. I certainly hope that my security isn’t grounded in material blessings. I don’t think it is, but it’s something to think about. Ha! That’s me, always thinking.