Possessions Are What I Have, Not Who I Am
I had to learn the difference.
Photo by Brooke Cagle on Unsplash
I lacked a sense of inherent worth, so I filled my life with superficial possessions that helped me feel important and whole.
I justified that my corporate job paid well and that I worked hard and deserved beautiful things.
Denial shaded my awareness of over-attachment. I was blind to the physical and emotional weight.
Logically I thought if I’m paying my bills, not carrying frivolous debt, and maxing out my 401K — the rest is for spending.
I bought furniture and kitchen gadgets, artsy decor, and hundreds of books. I love Christmas and fitness, so the garage was filled with plastic tubs of glittery, holiday tchotchkes and random sports equipment.
My closet had a similar flare. Not top-tier excess, but a solid six-figure go at it.
I typically wore a suit to work. Shiny accouterments were my favorite. I was adorned with fancy shoes, lots of jewelry, and a posh handbag. Like a real-life magic trick, they distracted cohorts from my lack of emotional availability.
My biggest obsession was high-heel pumps — specifically five-inch, peep-toe, platform high heels. I had dozens of pairs in patterned, patent, suede, and more colors than a jumbo box of Crayolas. They were a glaring symptom of my inability to accept reality.
Fortunately, I didn’t buy excessively in all things. Our house had a reasonable amount of most items. However, when it came to a handful of my strongest vices, moderation wasn’t a consideration.
On the Road Again
In my quest for external validation, I’ve lived in nine states.
Every few years, I packed my belongings and hauled them across the country. With each move, I made a half-hearted effort to purge. I took bags of donations to Goodwill and left larger items at the curb for free pickup.
It would take weeks to unpack after a move. Many items I carefully packed, transported, and unpacked had gone years without use. Yet, I would repack those same gizmos the following year. It was ridiculous.
Last spring, my husband and I made a monumental decision. We were both unhappy with our jobs and desired a new adventure.
It turns out Panama is a fantastic place for expats to live inexpensively. After lots of research and a ten-day scouting trip, we committed to moving, and the wheels of planning began to churn.
I was slowly selling sports memorabilia, books, and random housewares. I would open a drawer and cull the contents. A few things were trash or donations, yet many items I sold online.
I had over 100 listings in my digital stores. However, the sales rate wasn’t fast enough for our timeline to move.
The pressure of my internal critic began to rise.
Mental Gymnastics
Since we were planning a three to five-year adventure, we decided to rent our home. Instead of paying for storage, we could use half the garage to cache our household items and personal treasures.
As I looked around our house, I realized all our worldly possessions need to fit in one parking space — the sum of my life’s contents equal to a nine by eighteen concrete pad.
It was hard to let go of items that seemed connected to my identity. Memories arose of where I purchased things and how I had enjoyed them.
My mind spiraled with fears of uncertainty and wastefulness. It felt like death discarding many of the components that made up my life.
And yet, creating piles of stuff to set free was a tremendous relief. I’d carried around hundreds of heavy boxes for years, not realizing how much they actually weighed me down.
A New Strategy
Moving internationally demands extensive paperwork, adhering to pet requirements, and the real-life Jenga we played with our possessions.
We utilized various online stores and apps to sell our wares and gave many things away. Nonetheless, I had a garage full of stuff worth selling and limited time to sell them in increments of one. It was time for a new strategy.
Like most people, I’ve seen garage sales around neighborhood streets all my life. I went to a few when I was a kid tagging along with my favorite aunt.
As an adult, the task of organizing, planning, and getting up at 4:00 AM to execute a yard sale didn’t seem worth the hassle. It was easier to bag up clothes and bad white elephant Christmas gifts and donate them.
We had already done half the work by sorting through our belongings and preparing boxes of items to sell. I did a quick internet search and read that we could earn between $500 and $1,000 on a garage sale.
That was all it took. I was in.
Freedom comes from less.
My husband did a great job advertising the sale. We borrowed tables, got lots of $1 bills, and planned our merchandising strategy.
As the sun barely graced the sky, garage sale professionals drove up aggressively, hopping out of cars while scanning the setting. They immediately went after electronics and name-brand kitchenwares, bidding half price and being a bit pushy.
My stomach knotted. Is this what the day will be like? Folks haggling over a $2 widget I paid $25 for a few years prior and was skeptically selling.
Sunrise shifted into a more decent hour of the morning, and the neighborhood came alive. Dog walkers and parents pushing strollers stopped to check out the assortment. I could feel the tension in my body releasing as they browsed and made small talk with the ease of Saturday morning.
My heart lifted as I witnessed the smiles of found treasures and the laughter of neighbors chatting on the lawn. Neglected items that weighed me down became useful delights to others.
Possessions defined a great deal of my identity for most of my life. My shoe collection alone was a strong statement of my codependent dysfunction.
As I sat in the grass pondering the accumulation displayed before me, the larger lesson sank in.
None of these items define me.
Freedom comes from less.
Riches are in the simple moments of living an authentic life, not in gadgets and gizmos.
As we broke down the remains of the yard sale, I surveyed the lawn to see what was left.
The fifteen pairs of name-brand, five-inch, peep-toe, platform high heels stood like gargoyles in the exact same place I had left them.
There were no takers on the alluring charms of my charade. What had defined so much of my life was literally worthless to others.
It was the reality I needed to see. It gave me the courage to let go and allow the decorations of my ego to move on.
Possessions are what I have, not who I am. I had to learn the difference.
. . .
Rebecca Murauskas is a high-performance Life Coach. She helps people be free of stress and overwhelm, reclaim their purpose, and feel fulfilled. Rebecca and her husband, Adam, abandoned their careers and moved to Panamá in 2019 to pursue passions for helping people heal. Take the free Time Saver Quiz and find additional content at RebeccaMurauskas.com.