Like drops of water on a heating skillet, the piles of things scattered across the floors of the house are finally beginning to coalesce. If only they would just evaporate. Most of it I don’t need or even want. But there is attachment. A gift from a trusted friend. Letters from a past life lover. Wedding presents long-stored but never displayed or utilized. Art projects that remind me of how creative I once was.
I read about people who live with very little, even going so far as to erase the hard drives of their computers once a year so that they can start fresh. I know that living lightly brings me joy and freedom. These objects merely reinforce a sense of self that is constantly in motion despite the constraints they attempt to impose on it. They represent a me that is no longer me.
I want to let the waves of change wash this sense of self away, as they inevitably will despite the efforts I make to stop them. I want to be able to shift and change like the shoreline, the storms radically reshaping me, and the calm winds of summer smoothing my contours again. But the self is a beach house, standing in defiance as the waves methodically wash its foundations out from under it.