Tag: burdens

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Casting Off

The champion’s gaze softened as he regarded the new world about him, devoid of any feature or distinction. Once, this had been a thriving landscape. But time and chaos had done their work, choking the land’s vital energy, until the approach of the end times could no longer be denied and the champion had acted to sweep everything away. Now, with one word, it could be made anew.

The champion pondered.

“OK … now where DID I put that access code, anyway?”

***

If my mind seems a little apocalyptic today, my apologies. Setting up a new computer will do that to you. Yes, our machine at Chez Rochat finally began sending signs that its long and faithful service was … well, about to be a lot shorter and less faithful. The Desktop Blues had become a favorite tune, followed by the Desktop Reboot and the Desktop Disk-Checking Screen, so it was clearly time to ring down the curtain and clear the stage.

I can’t really complain. At eight years old, my computer was getting into Willie Nelson and Keith Richards territory. But it did mean that it was time for the ritual intonation that every modern first-world human makes when faced with cleaning out a basement, straightening out a closet, or getting ready to move computer files.

“Holy crap! Where did all this stuff come from?”

I can see a few smiles of agreement out there. Most of us aren’t exactly Marie Kondo, regularly studying every item in our inventory and pondering “Does this give me joy?”  If anything, we’re a little closer to John Lennon, where “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” Over time, the intentions of the moment fade and sink into mystery until it’s time for the next major archaeological dig.

Sometimes it makes for a neat rediscovery. “Aw, man, I forgot we had these old pictures!  Look at Dad’s hair!”

Sometimes it’s cause to think. “Wow, we haven’t played this in years. Think your cousin would want to give it a try?”

And sometimes – probably most times – it’s a much more primal reaction. “We still have this? Huh …” Hopefully not followed by an immediate rush for some bleach.

The cleanup that follows is often painful (especially for folks like me who are a walking vortex of chaos) but generally necessary. And not just with computers and closets.

We carry a lot of stuff inside us that we don’t need, too.

That one’s harder because everything in us has shaped us in some way, and because letting go of a bad piece of the past isn’t as simple as pulling out a Hefty bag. But we all know the bits we don’t need. The ones that don’t leave us with any memories worth keeping or any lessons left to learn – or that even lead us down false trails and cause continuing harm as they weigh us down.

Our stories keep bringing this back to us. Like Yoda warning Luke Skywalker that the only dangers he’ll face in his next test are the ones he brings with him. Or Frodo and Sam on the brink of Mount Doom, casting off most of their gear – including some things they love but no longer need – so that they can endure the last punishing run of their quest.

You don’t have to be joyless or ascetic. Just aware of what’s really important to you, and ready to shed something that’s become a burden.

It’s not easy. It may require a lot of help.  But it’s worth it, every single time. Especially when it helps keep you out of the blues.

Or even the blue screens.

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Carrying On

The Missy Purse is dead. Long live the Missy Purse.

In all honesty, this was not a surprise. Our developmentally disabled ward Missy tends to pack her ever-present purses to the breaking point – and then about three trailer-loads beyond it. A black hole attracts less mass than a Missy Purse. Soldiers have traveled with smaller loadouts on campaign. In fact, since Missy stands under five feet tall, and weighs less than 100 pounds, you could make an argument as to whether the purse carries her.

Mind you, Heather and I stay vigilant. We’ll periodically smuggle the purse out of sight – which is a little like hiding an elephant under a windbreaker – and cast off some of the detritus. But no matter how many times we revisit it, its contents always seem to regenerate, including:

  • Seven weeks worth of bowling scores, folded until they resemble origami.
  • Three Hot Wheels cars, still in their well-handled packaging.
  • Intermingled flash cards from three different decks.
  • $13.72 in loose change.
  • Two Harry Potter winter hats – even in July.
  • A thick stack of bingo cards, secured in a Ziploc bag.
  • The Ark of the Covenant.
  • The missing “dark matter.”
  • A partridge in a pear tree.

Like the TARDIS of Doctor Who fame, Missy’s accessory of choice always seems to be larger on the inside. But even the mightiest purse has limits. Zippers cease to fasten. Stitches start to give. And, inevitably, the shoulder strap will wear through.

Just as inevitably, Missy will refuse to give up on it right away. Sometimes dragged, sometimes hauled, sometimes presented to one of her Official Porters (us) with a curt “Here,” the Missy Purse will be paraded in honor for another day or two, before it is finally allowed a decent burial and replacement.

It’s hard to let go. Even when it’s become too much. Even when it’s become an obvious, uncomfortable burden.

Sound familiar?

Most of us have carried something similar, even if it isn’t a bright red piece of faux leather. Sometimes it’s an old resentment. A toxic relationship. A painful memory that shapes expectations. Or yes, a prized possession that’s become “What’s it in the shop for this week?”

Sometimes we’re not aware of the damage it’s causing. Sometimes we have to be told or made aware. But most of the time, we know darned well that it’s become a burden – but it’s easier to hold on than to let go.

Letting go means unfamiliar territory.

Letting go means figuring out what to do next.

Letting go means admitting we’ve held on too long, to something that no longer rewarded the attention, if indeed it ever did.

There are a million reasons for not making the hard choice. We know the burden well. We’ve learned to live with it. It’s not that bad, really – right?

And all the while, the seams are splitting. And the shoulder is getting sore.

Ultimately, the choice is ours. Friends can help (and welcome help it is). Advice can offer suggestions, empathy can provide comfort and relief. But the hand that loosens the grip has to be our own.

Only then can we make way for something new.

There’s a new Missy Purse now. Black, this time – a rare choice for her – and rather snazzy. Yes, it’s already accumulating stuff of its own. But it’s more manageable, more comfortable, more useful. And when its time comes in turn, maybe it’ll be a little easier to make the separation.

Maybe.

After all, it’s all a matter of purse-ception.