It's Vibrational

Something is happening to me.

It’s subtle.
It’s profound.
It’s undetectable to the outsider.

But I feel it.
It’s vibrational.
That’s it. It’s vibrational.

It has to do with the commitment I made to “not buy clothes, used or new” for the entire year. All of 2023. And let me just say I am someone who habitually drops by the corner thrift shop on a weekly basis to “just see” what treasure may appear – a “new” pair of UGG boots, a “new” cashmere sweater, a “new” bag.

Let me dial back to mid-January. I’m driving along Garland Avenue, and I thought, “Oh, I’ll just pop into the American Cancer Society Thrift Shop to see what’s there.” My body felt the impulse to turn the wheel and direct the car to the corner of Post and Garland. As I felt the impulse and had the thought, the following thought came, “Oh, that’s right, I’m not DOING THAT this year.”

The serotonin-hit I was about to get evaporated as fast as the thought came. I could almost feel the dopamine drop. “Right, I’m NOT DOING THAT this year,” I reminded myself. The next thought was: “Oh, and it’s only January 23rd.”

“It’s ok,” I reassured myself. “You just went to that clothes exchange last weekend and got rid of four bags of clothes and came home with five “new to you” items. You’ve gotten your shopping hit for the month.”

By February, I could feel the habitual impulse to thrift shop waning. I began listening to a podcast called The Wannabe Minimalist which talks all about the benefits of simplifying, owning less, being able to find your things, having more time because there’s not nearly as much mess to sort through.

This podcast offered a 30-day challenge to clear out your home. I took it on. I’m in the process now and it is changing me. Vibrationally.

Take the gray towels I bought at Costco over two years ago for example. First off, I already had towels I loved. They were gray, thin, very absorbent. I only had six, which was fine. But on one Costco run, I impulsively plopped four fluffy gray towels into my cart. They promised luxury, a satisfying after shower drying experience. The moment I tried them, disappointment set in. They weren’t nearly as absorbent as my own towels. Water sat on my skin when I tried to dry myself. I used them a few times, and they consistently disappointed.

So, the towels sat there, folded in the closet for two years. Each time I opened the closet, I felt that dash of dissatisfaction, a sprinkle of guilt for the impulse buy, and a pinch of wastefulness. Each time I opened the closet I was spritzed with these unpleasant feelings just by looking at them.

All that ended last week when I chose to put them in a donation bag and take them to my favorite thrift shop. Now when I open the bathroom closet door and see my favorite towels neatly stacked in a spacious arrangement, I feel happy, relaxed. Calm.

I continue to declutter. Since the beginning of the year, I’ve moved out at least 10 or 11 large bags of clothes and things in my house. I am beginning to feel a sense of JOY when I look around my house because I’m keeping ONLY those things I love. This process is teaching me to let go of those things in life that are not a vibrational match to my most joyful, loving self.

It’s all about choosing.
It’s about letting go.
It’s about choosing love, joy and happiness.
Letting go of discontent, guilt, responsibility.

 My home is getting a clutter colonic and I am feeling clearer and lighter as each bag of stuff trundles off to the goodwill or some thrift shop to be donated.

Benji....

Is it the right thing to do?
The right time?
How do we ever know?
And who am I to say?

What I do know is that you wander the yard and walk in circles, paw at the dry earth for no reason. I do know that your hind legs fail you often, as though they’re a collapsing accordion and you don’t know if they will hold you up.

I do know that you sit at the top of the stairs in the morning, your bum on the landing with your two front paws on the stair below for minutes at a time. I imagine you wondering if you can make it down the long narrow chute to get to breakfast. One more time. You ponder and pant, your breath heaves as I call to you in my chirpy, encouraging way. “Come on Benji, you can do it.” But it often takes three, sometimes four minutes for you to make the move.

What I do know is that our walks are short, and it takes ten to fifteen minutes to get around just one block, your back stiff and tight. And I do know that you shadow me most days, anxious and panting, and I’m never quite sure what you need or want. Most days you sleep, your body sprawled out in its long, black sinewy way. You no longer hear me when I enter the room, or call you from the kitchen.

I do know that getting in the car is harder now, even with the doggie step Erez made you last year. The car is not much of an option any more to go on any adventures. Though we did make it to the river recently for you to dip your paws and lap up a drink. Perhaps one last time.

You’re an old man now…your time is coming. I feel it. But I can’t help but remember….so many things.

Remember when you were the fastest dog in the park? When you ran like the road runner, your legs scrambled under you so fast that we could barely see them moving. Your only focus was the ball. The ball. The BALL! I remember thinking “that’s going to hurt later in life!”

Remember when I lost you in the woods when you were just a puppy? When you took off after a deer. It was winter, snow piled high, and we were in Riverside State Park, me, alone with Zara. I asked her to track you down. But you were the tracking dog. She was the party dog. But at last, you appeared, panting, out of the blue like you’d had the adventure of your life.

Remember when you learned to swim? How scared you were? How we bought you the life vest and finally we threw you off the deck at Jewel Lake and once you figured out you weren’t going to drown (especially with the vest on) you took to the water like a duck. You swam as hard and fast for the ball in the water as you ran for it on the ground!

Remember all the tug of war with Erez? How you two wrestled on the dining room floor for the red tug of war toy made by KONG. You were so tough you gave Erez a good workout every time.

Remember the endless winter nights of keep away with the ball in our dining room. Zara perched on the couch, waiting her turn, you running back and forth between me and Erez to catch the ball. Sometimes you’d shoot up into the air like a geyser and snatch it out of the air before it reached either of us.

And then there were the heating vents you were terrified of. The cat, Jupi, who scared you to practically shake in your skin. I remember how you’d look away to say, “please, leave me alone, I won’t hurt you.” And yet you could have killed him with one snap.

I could go on my precious one. You’ve been my teacher, my friend, my snuggle buddy, my joy for 13 good solid years. I will miss you beyond measure…

And yet it feels like time.
I see it.
Erez sees it.
You’re tired.
You can rest my love.
You’ve lived a great life!

Unraveling (April 2021)

It happened all at once
This letting go,
This unfurling of my cells
So tightly wound
And bound by fear. As though
If I worked harder,
Faster, more
Something would happen.

Faster.
Now.

It’s the great unraveling,
Arms flung open
Body buoyed on the 
Ocean’s rolling waves.

Fear floats out
Beyond the encasement 
Of my skin that gives me
Sovereignty to say “my and mine.”

Floating.
Drifting.
No oars.
A sea anemone unfurling, 

One last time, weeks ago,
I pushed through, powered through,
Only to feel my lungs burn, no,
To feel as through tiny shards of glass
Lined the inside of my breathing machine.

The energy escaped my body
Like a helium balloon deflating,
Leaving rest
As the only possibility.

Floating and drifting 
From moment to moment
As the only next option
To see what shore
I will arrive upon
At some future moment.

What we take with us…..

years of journals….

Have you ever thought about how much energy all of your things require? 

I hadn’t. Until recently.

In the past couple of months, I’ve had the opportunity to touch almost every THING in our house that has lived with us for the last 10 years.

What has struck me most, is that each THING acquired, required me to make the money to buy it, then research the perfect THING in its category, then buy it. Sometimes the THING that comes into the house isperfect and we use it regularly, but sometimes it disappoints and ends up in the closet, the back of the drawer or worse, the basement where it collects dust and lives with the spiders. 

Some of those THINGS grow cobwebs over them, some rust out, and others dry up. The things we DO like, we have to clean, store, and take care of, or pay someone else to do that.

I’ve seen it all of late.

The old bottles of supplements that have been outdated for several years.
The dried-up tube of anti-bacterial cream, being saved for a camping trip.
The rusted hand garden tools bought at an art fair, made by a lovely craftsman. 
Then there’s the camping equipment, used oh-so-rarely, because in truth, I’m not a camper. 
There are the presents people have given us that I haven’t had the heart to give away.
The raggedy pet toys, truly past their day.
The clothes that I love but are worn out.

You get it. The list is looooooong.

And while sorting, making hundreds, if not thousands of decisions, I am at once accosted by the slough of feelings that rankle the heart. There’s the shame that warmed me when I saw the rusted, dusty garden tools. I hung my head like a bad dog for a bit. But what is done is done, and time can’t be reversed.

The strongest feeling has been the one of clinging – the wanting to let something go, but then rethinking that perhaps I COULD use that THING in the new place, but in reality I don’t have THAT much space. So, the voice in my head says, “No, Diane, you cannot take that vase (insert whatever noun here) with you. I see myself putting it in the GIFT pile, then pulling it back to the KEEP pile. Then realizing, no, you have to give that one away.

The voice in the head reminds me again: ”Remember, you are NOT getting a storage unit. You MUST make decisions and let go.”

Erez and I originally thought we’d geta storage unit. That was a relief. We could KEEP the STUFF. As the process has continued, we’ve been asking ourselves, WHY? Why are we going to PAY hundreds of dollars a month to store things we won’t even remember we have?

NO.

The artist in me wants to keep the things I’ve saved for the “some-day” pile. I can still hear myself say, “Oh, but some day I’m going to make earrings. I should keep the wire clippers and beads, the earring backs and jewelry glue. Or what about the box of broken bits of cups and plates for the mosaic I’ve been planning on for years? (Well, THATone made the cut and came with me)

These last few months have been all about sorting, tossing, giving, letting go, and taking the essentials. We’ve just had a massive garage sale, and have sold 85% of our furniture and 70% of our stuff.

In the end, I notice it’s the sentimental things we all keep. The pictures, the jewelry from Mom, the letters saved over decades. These are the things that warm our hearts. 

In my cleaning out, I found two files of letters my Mom had written me back in college and my early twenties. So, Mom and I are sitting and reading the letters out loud to one another when I visit her in Oakland. We’re creating new memories in the last chapter of her life.

Those moments are priceless. They take us back to long gone days and help us remember life as we knew it then.

This move, this sorting and letting go, is a huge gift. I’m feeling the lightness of being. Less to take care of, less to manage, less to get rid of next time. However, I WILL be keeping ALL of my journals. And I have a lot of those!

Now, in my much smaller house, I will practice discernment from the get go and only allow into my home that which I LOVE, that which I will USE, and that which brings me JOY. No dust and cobweb collecting here!