3c0

My storage room haunts me. It contains my skeletons, metaphorically speaking. If my life were to be cut short and my home exposed to my family and friends, they will learn for themselves that I was not that okay. They would see that I have way too many suitcases for a household of one and that I also have way too many clothes. At least, that’s how I fear they would judge me, however, mindfulness reminds me that these thoughts are merely thoughts and therefore an add-on to my suffering.

Besides, it is more likely they would be in their feelings and more focused on my death, than whatever post-humous life statement I leave behind.

This is my motivation to get my life in order. The prospect of sudden death and my beloved friends and family having to deal with what I leave behind. I plan to lessen and remove things from the storage, a few times a week—let’s say three—but so far since quitting one of my part-time jobs at the end of January, I have only managed to do two legitimate excavations of mostly clothes, since there is a thrift store conveniently located across the street from me.

I feel no guilt about this. I am just stating facts. I promised myself to rest all of February and to only really “plan” and make bigger moves in March.

Friends have complimented my style, but many don’t realize I tend to love to repeat outfits. When I went away for my silent meditation retreat, I brought enough underwear but only 3 outfits for the ten-days. That time was the most “myself” and liberated I have ever felt.

February came close to that feeling. I slept so much last month and feel so clear-minded. It is quite absurd and ridiculous that rest is an exception and not the norm.