Un-Stuffing the Mind

Lately, spurred on by the recent death of my older brother, I have been examining my life, reviewing the whole thing from start to the present like a movie. Trying to make sense of my experience here on earth thus far. There is nothing like staring the death of a loved one in the face that makes a person question the worth of their life. Or that has been my experience of it. It is as if when my brother took his own life, he knocked over the house of cards that is my life and it fell to the ground in a messy pile. I have been slowly picking up each card and examining it, trying to put the pieces back together in a way that makes sense, and in a way that tells me it has been a good life. While I do this, my brother  stands over me urgently saying - "now make sense of that! Make sure the life you are living is a life well lived. Make sure you are getting all you can from your life. I couldn't figure out how to do it, so now you must. And do it now, don't wait! Death awaits you too in your own time."

One quintessential moment in my life that recently I've been thinking a lot about happened in 2000. I was about a year and a half into my Peace Corps service in a remote village in Panama. I visited home during Christmas time to decide if I was going to extend my term or return home in accordance with the original plan.

During my visit, I found myself sitting on a bench in an affluent suburban mall. Around me people streamed in and out of clothing boutiques that extolled the virtues of clothes made in Honduras, designer hand bags made in China, and other assorted accessories from around the world. To my right, teenagers eagerly awaited a chance to try out a water massage machine - a contraption that looked much like a tanning bed gone haywire - meant to offer relaxation to harried holiday shoppers. And to my left, more teens handed over ten dollar bills at a kiosk selling gourmet doggy treats and chocolate covered espresso beans.

The remote subsistence village I had been living in just west of the Panama Canal had no economic infrastructure except my neighbor's tin-roofed, mud-floor hut out of which he sold essential food staples: sugar, rice, canned meat, and homemade popsicles. In Panama, I had been living deeply connected with what I would consider the "real world." My life was subject to the pounding rains of the wet season, sometimes flooding the village and stranding me in my little home for days at a time; and extreme drought during the dry season when water was so scarce I had to walk a half mile to a natural spring to find some for cooking and cleaning.

The feeling that overcame me as I sat on that bench in the mall was a void of aliveness and connection inherent in a life lived in the American mainstream. The mall is a place that shaped my generation and many that followed in the unending quest to find identity in the American landscape. Generation after generation in the United States is being told they will find their identity in the goods they consume; that the most important decision our lives require is to choose which corporate logo best expresses our personalities.

That message was in stark contrast to the life I had been living in Panama. Although the villagers lived a life labeled by the economic index as "extreme poverty" they seemed no more or less happy than the affluent people of the United States.

The little hut I lived in Panama had a bed with a mosquito net over it, a two burner propane stove, one pan, some food, some clothes (many of them hand sewn), some books on a shelf, some seeds, and a wall with my machete and a few other tools hung on it. And still that was more than some homes in the village had.

The home I am living in now is full of stuff, bursting at the seams with stuff. Furniture, toys, clothes, tools, dishes, stuff to cook with, stuff to play with, stuff to do hobbies with, stuff, stuff and more stuff. The realization that Americans have too much stuff is nothing new to be sure. People have been talking about over-consumption for years, decades, and longer. But the realization of what stuff has done to my life is new for me.

I did end up extending my time in Panama for a few months to finish a project in the village. After my Peace Corps service ended, I took a bus through Central America to get back to the United States. I journaled extensively during that time. As I reread those journals lately one sentence I wrote leaped out at me from the page - "I don't want to become part of the middle-class of the world!"

I tend to take the voice of that 26 year old seriously because I know she was in touch with the real world. Living in a mud-floor tin-roofed hut for three years was a life changing experience, it impacted me on a core level that I had never experienced before or since. I developed an entirely new worldview from that experience. I have been working to remember my life back then so I can understand again the sentiment and impetus for that feeling. In my journal I gave no explanation of it as I am sure my reasons were obvious to me at the time.

The impact of reading that sentence today was that I looked around at my life and my world began to crumble a bit. What has happened was something that 26 year old feared most. At some point in the growing older and raising a family, the accumulation of stuff began to get in the way of my experience of the real world. Sure, most of our stuff is green, eco-conscious, and bought with social justice in mind. But it is still stuff. The spending time buying, ordering, making, using, finding a place for, picking up, cleaning, fixing or replacing and dealing with of, consumes much of my time as a person and especially now as a stay-at-home mom.

When life becomes about stuff, even if it is handmade, local, organic, sweatshop free stuff, it is still just stuff. I feel stuff gets in between me and connecting to the real world. It keeps me separate. I'm sure some would argue that stuff can also connect you to the real world, but overall my experience is of separation.

I went from working in environmental education in one of the most wild places in the U.S. - Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons - to spending three years living in Panama working as an agroforestry volunteer. When living in the shadow of the Grand Tetons I would look out at the landscape and see ecosystems, animal tracks, plant families, and habitats. In the understory of the Panamanian rainforest I would look out at the landscape and see hillsides for planting corn, marshy areas that would make good rice paddies, and patches of sun for growing tomatoes. And while I hate to admit it, but in my time living in Santa Fe, settling down and raising a family I now look our at my landscape (or yard) and see places for a new piece of furniture, a spot to hang a hammock, a kitchen pot that needs replacing, or a need for a new pair of pants to be bought. My lens on the world and the stuff of my mind went from wildplaces to agriculture to consumption. I've truly been domesticated.

Of the many questions I find myself grappling with in answer to Aaron's beckon call to live a life well lived three of them now pressing on my mind are - How did my life become about stuff? And what does an un-stuffed American family life look like anyway? What brings life deep meaning and worth and how can I have more of that instead of filling my life with things?

To answer these questions I began doing some internet searches to see what other people were saying about this topic. One idea that resonated with me most was minimalism as an answer to consumerism. Rather than talking about recycling, reusing, and making your own stuff (which does have its value, don't get me wrong), it is about reduction. Not letting stuff rule your life and your home and most importantly not letting it occupy so much space in your mind means just simply having less of it, dealing with it less, thinking about it less. Easier said than done of course. Especially in this moment of the Christmas season. High time when we are bombarded with the message to consume. I'm not immune to it either - as evidenced by the pile of Christmas presents in hidden in my closet waiting to be put out on Christmas eve after the kids go to bed.

But I am looking forward to starting a new in 2014. I am determined not to let my stuff own me or my life. So far I have managed to take about 5 grocery bags of stuff to Salvation army and give away a set of dishes and some furniture to a friends, things I was keeping around just in case we needed them someday. So that is a start.

Here are a few of the best tips I picked up in my research with a few of my own thrown in on how to un-stuff your mind:

1. Spend (more) time in nature - escpecially when you feel the urge to buy coming on.
2. Cultivate natural habitats - instead of landscaping your yard for your own enjoyment - create spaces for birds, bees, butterflies, rabbits, and even coyotes.
3. Spend low-stress time with friends. Invite people over but don't stress about it. Let them see your mess if need be. Make it a potluck or just for tea.
4. Clear your mind through meditation. Best way I've found to un-stuff my mind it is clear it out completely.
5. Take a nap in nature. Try it, you'll see what I mean.
6. Volunteer. Think about other people make your own wants seem less important.
7. Become and astute observer of your inner consumer. Check out Leo's blog for the great things they have to say about this: http://mnmlist.com/consumerism-vs-minimalism/
8. Nurture your inner minimalist. Cultivate simplicity in your mind and it will eventually show up in your life.

What helps you to un-stuff your mind? Post in the comments section, I would love to hear your thoughts....

Happy Holidays!
Christina