Do you ever look around your home and think, how did I accumulate all this stuff? If you’re anything like me, you spend a good amount of time trying to declutter and manage all the stuff that wanders into your life.
But, have you ever taken a look at your possessions and asked yourself what those items say about you?
We humans really do leave a trail of stuff that follows us through life. When examined, this trail of stuff can reflect who we are. Think of profilers on TV shows who paint a portrait of someone by looking at the items in their homes.
For this week’s writing prompt, I’d like you to take a mental inventory of your stuff and make a list of the items, large or small, that come to mind. Set a timer for four minutes and Just make a list of the items in two to three words. Don’t write out complete sentences.
Once you’ve done that, I’d like you to profile yourself. Look at the items on the list and write a description of what those items tell you. What do they reveal about you? Why do you think you listed those items? Are there any particular stories attached to these items? What is their significance? Write about your stuff and what it says about you.
Then consider joining us for the last Writing in the Galleries session at the Orlando Museum of on Saturday, October 27 where we’re going to learn to write about stuff.
If you are willing, please share your profile in the comments below so we can all enjoy your stories.
photo credit: Protopian Pickle Jar Kitchen window via photopin (license)
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Cheryl Floyd
Still dark outside, why can’t I sleep? I knew if I looked at the time that would be the end of my night’s rest. It’s only five. That’s it. Now I am awake. I might as well check my email. There’s a weekly writing prompt from Patricia. Has she been sending those? I think so, but I have been ignoring them. Why? Because she is my muse and if I pay attention to her then I have to write. Why can’t I write on my own?
Well, what is it? Oh no, not about clutter, my nemesis. Clutter and procrastination are my constant companions; always reminding me of my imperfections. I feel stuck, out of my creative flow with writing and now I am writing about my stuff, the clutter around me. Strange, before I reached for the bedside light and read my email; I tossed and turned thinking of all the clutter in my life that keeps me from writing. And the prompt is Trail of Stuff. What keeps me from handling the boxes and crates stacked in my studio and closets? What am I afraid of handling? No hiding from the truth, it’s my past. The people and jobs that are no longer a part of my life are all wrapped up in those boxes, crates, stacks of papers and books. But if I speak the truth, I have always been a paper stacker and an avoider of handling stuff.
I recently signed up for a year-long, online course to declutter my life. And yet, there are weeks of the daily email decluttering tasks that I haven’t even opened. Now I have piles of unopened emails to accompany the stacks of unopened mail and unfiled papers.
Am I putting off tackling projects until I have more time? When will that happen? I am basically retired. I don’t have to go to work every day. I don’t have people depending on me. It’s just me, I am alone with no clock to punch and I still don’t have time to handle my daily stuff. Should I accept the fact that I am a procrastinator who needs to put off things to another day and this is an incurable condition? Maybe I am lazy and that’s the sad truth.
Back to my list and this writing assignment, the first item I wrote was: bedroom furniture. How’s that for avoiding writing about the crates, boxes, and stacks of paper?
When I moved into my almost one-hundred-year-old home I desired to have antique bedroom furniture. I saw a set in the window of a store downtown. Every day my husband and I walked past that window and I had to stop and stare at the furniture, but couldn’t justify spending that much for a bedroom set.
One day a friend of mine came for a visit and as we walked past the store I asked her if she thought the price was too high. She had an interest in antiques and knew more about them than I did. She responded with a question, “Cheryl, if you walk by this window tomorrow and the furniture is gone; would you think this price was too high?”
I returned to the store that afternoon and bought my six-piece antique bedroom furniture and never regretted the expense. For over ten years I only used part of the set because the foot and headboards did not fit our king-sized bed. After my husband’s sudden death, I could no longer sleep in that bed or the same bedroom. I gave the bed away and moved into a smaller bed and bedroom. Then I realized I could now use the whole bedroom set of furniture. I moved the set into the smaller room and felt comforted by the smaller space that I occupied with my beloved pieces of furniture. Like a caterpillar in a cocoon; I felt comforted and safe; waiting for my unknown new life.
The frame needed slats and to be secured. Before I could get help with that project I moved the bed to paint the wall and the headboard slipped and fell. When I saw the cracked board I slumped down into a bundle of tears. I cried for the loss of the value of my antique set and for all the loss of my husband and my old life. I called another good friend and shared how I had ruined my antique headboard. She listened and said, “The value is for you, not for resale in the future. The furniture can be mended and you can enjoy it for as long as you want it.”
I love my new space and am learning to love my new life even with its cracks and breaks. This old house and furniture are getting older, showing their age and wear; so am I. Together we are welcoming a new era with all of our cracks, breaks, and stories blending together into one.