Growing up in two seperate houses meant that I had to carry my most important items from one house to the other whenever I switched. Some days I’d depart in the morning from one home, go to school, and return in the afternoon to my other house. All the while carrying a heavy bag with stuff I wanted in my bedroom. Unconsciously I began to develop the habit of only wanting to own things unless I really needed them. Possessions restrict movement. As an adult I’ve lived in different countries and cities. With each move I found myself hiring trucks to move furniture or renting storage facilities to hold boxes. It was always a hassle and each time I did all this I get rid of items.
Today I can look into the back garden from my bedroom and imagine a digger rolling in to demolish the old shed that sits there, the heavy machinery could knock it down and scoop it up and take it all away, and after it was all gone a clean flat sheet of thick green grass could grow instead. A favourite activity has become throwing stuff away. Almost as soon as I buy something my mind wanders off to thinking about how I’ll get rid of it later on. Empty places are elegant and luxurious.
If I ever own a mansion I’d like to have a large room in the corner of the second floor containing no furniture and nothing on the walls beside paint. I will open the tall windows in each direction so that wind from across the valley can rush through the building gently. In the late afternoon when the sun is dropping I might feel the want to reach out and grab the clean air in my hands. Not so that I can hold it but just so that I can let it go.