New Curtains

Not to beat a dead horse, but I am still flabbergasted by the huge difference it has made to delete Facebook from my phone, examine my spending, and gradually purge my house of unwanted items and unnecessary excess. I really can’t get over it. They say that in order to form a habit and change your life, you have to change something you do every day. I never expected that changing such small things would have such a massive impact. This is my fourth blog post in a month. I’m lucky if I clear four posts in a YEAR. These days, I sometimes wake up so inspired that I can barely contain genuine feelings of excitement about the day. It used to take a Red Bull and a cup of coffee before I could move beyond “meh”. I don’t drink coffee anymore. Well… rarely. As a treat. And mostly decaf. I am a tea person now.

I can imagine a critical and/or unhappy-in-life skeptic thinking: “Well, Autumn, you’re obviously going through a phase”. And that’s okay. People said that about my initial sobriety. This isn’t a phase, it’s just another curtain drawing back to reveal the next level of my recovery.

Recovery, as a whole, has been a series of curtains drawing back to reveal life in ever more stark relief. My addiction kept me in a haze. As I gradually recovered, the world not only came into focus but also brightened and intensified in color. It has been a slow process but the exciting part, for me, is that it will continue as long as I’m willing to examine how I can improve.

While I do take the time to talk about what it was like before and how recovery works for me, this “on-going story of recovery from addiction” is just the story of my life. It’s about the evolution that occurs with the appearance of each new curtain: some are pulled aside slowly and others are thrown wide open. I can try to explain what recovery feels like…or I can just show you.

I think I mentioned three different addictions in my introduction: social media, consumerism, and caffeine. It is no coincidence that I feel better; these are all things that have a powerful ability to change the brain. So much can be linked back to addiction. I would even go so far as to argue that addiction could be the achilles heel of our civilization: the scourge of more.

That’s one of the reasons I am so passionate about fighting it.

The irony of addiction is that you chase more but you end up manifesting less. Now that I am no longer chained to my phone, I write more, I bake more (I made a delicious pudding pie, outrageous Valentine’s Day cookies, and sinful macaroni and cheese), and I have more time to dedicate to clearing  space and bettering our home. I discovered that if I throw items relating to tasks I have been procrastinating SMACK in the middle of the living room floor, it offends my OCD sensibilities to the point that I have to attend to them immediately. I read a year’s worth of magazines this way and also sorted through our entire record collection. (We subsequently got $45 of store credit to spend on records to which we will actually listen!)

If you’re struggling with procrastination, throw your shit in the middle of the floor in the most unsightly place you can find. It’s pretty funny how fast you get motivated.

When I moved in with my now-wife, J.L., in 2013, our spare room became a dumping ground. One can’t designate it as a bedroom because it doesn’t have a closet, but it would certainly make an adequate guest area or office. It has been weighing on me for years. Since Christmas, we have been transforming the area into my personal walk-in closet and writing/meditation area. (I say “we” because J.L. has been such a good sport and my muscle-for-hire 😉 ) It’s still a work in progress, but the space is almost clear. I bought a garment rack so I can see my clothes. The items that I don’t wear can no longer be hidden in some dark corner of the master bedroom closet. It is so clear how much I don’t need. I have discovered that there is a pattern to my basic personal style and I am determined to stick to that in the future rather than fall prey to the little jolt I get every time I make a purchase.

I mentioned that I bought a garment rack. I also bought a little turquoise table for a light display, a picture frame, two mason jars, three baskets, and a professional outfit. These items are all for our home/life betterment project. Examining my spending hasn’t meant NO spending at all. It just means that I put more thought into the items I buy rather than shopping for the sake of shopping. I wait three days before I order an item online. I go to the store with a list and I stick to the list. (Most of the time. I’m certainly not perfect!) Consumerism is the hardest habit to break. But I am on track to be one hundred percent debt free by the end of 2018. What temporary shopping high could possibly be more valuable than that?

We have a vision for our life in ten years. They say life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans. But I think it’s okay – if not necessary – to dream. Our dream is to buy an eco-friendly condo in our favorite beach town and to live amongst the palm trees and tropical flowers. Perhaps J.L. will work at a state park. Since there will be no snow, I can finally drive a classic car or truck. We can park on the causeway and watch the dolphins, pelicans, and herons with our morning tea or coffee.

I can make space for this vision by not only clearing away the financial clutter, but also by lightening our physical possessions. I don’t want to drag a bunch of shit halfway across the country that I either a.) don’t use or b.) don’t care about but keep for sentimental reasons. My house still looks like a mermaid and a storybook gypsy had a baby and it threw-up everywhere: there are sea shells, rocks, dried flowers, jeweled glass bottles, lights, a folk-art unicorn, pin-up girls, and the list goes on…However, every single item I keep makes me smile. If it doesn’t, it goes. Or it will go in the next 5-8 years. Also, as a general rule of thumb, for every new thing that comes through the door, something else gets tossed into the donate pile.

The Minimalists point out that people are not in their possessions. I agree up to a certain point. On the other hand, I view some of my possessions as fragments of my life frozen in time. They bridge the gap between the present moment and a memory. Take, for example, the Bass River Mercantile root beer bottle adorned with a single dried carnation. The bottle is from an anniversary trip to Cape Cod. When I see it, I remember the overcast sky and taking pictures of shells with J.L. I remember getting a massage at the spa that was so relaxing I cried and hugged my masseuse. The carnation? Well, that is from a stranger who sat next to me at WaterFire in Providence, Rhode Island. I specifically remember feeling very “anti-people” and I didn’t want to be enveloped by the crush of the crowd. A woman and her companions, one of whom may have been her elderly, disabled father, asked if there was room to sit next to us. Then she asked for help with her camera. English wasn’t her first language and the experience that transpired ended up making me laugh and reminding me that people are mostly lovely and good. The woman found out it was my birthday and she gave me the little red flower. Every time I look at it, I’m reminded that people are good. And that I am a part of a benevolent universal fabric that sends me messages precisely when I need them.

That is why I would lovingly pack-up and carry my silly flowers and rocks; looking at these items is like thumbing through a chronicle of my life’s happiest memories. While I am not interested in creating a museum, I know that my brain is fallible and my life’s narrative is precious. I would not remember these moments otherwise. My choices give me creative license to shape my story. I can either smother myself with objects that hold no meaning or I can curate a narrative that celebrates joy and only joy.

One of my favorite artists, Patti Smith, often considers the value of objects in her books and photographs. In an article on one of Smith’s traveling museum exhibitions, Vince Carducci notes:

The chasm between the dead gelatin silver print and the living memory-image is something Smith seems to want to close. This is where the artifacts in the installation come in. Her father’s cracked teacup, her late husband Fred “Sonic” Smith’s cherished 1964 Mosrite“Ventures”-model electric guitar, an unadorned red marble cross left to her by Mapplethorpe, each thing by its continued presence sustains a relationship that loss has threatened to take away; the objects serve as talismans of a reality that is photographically destined to remain unredeemed.

My goal is to keep my talismans thoughtful, if not few. And maybe, like Patti Smith, I’ll write a book. I’m not quite sure what it will be about but, as the fabric of each new curtain billows and unfurls, I am given plenty of material to choose from.

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