That's All I Need...

Irma left behind leaf debris and small nests of branches that litter everything, streets, lawns, and cars, all over what was a very manicured world just the day before. A fresh carpet fills the air with the scent of oak, pine, and cedar, moist and still alive. A potpourri broken open, scattered like what it is, natural mulch.

Of course I’m concerned for those who now face all that damage from wind and flooding. Yes, I’m grateful to not be one of them. 

But prior to the hurricane, when the news was spinning faster than the tornadoes spawned by Irma herself, I anticipated the possibility of an altered reality. like a Branch Davidian lusting for a different way of being, I thought of the possibility of forced freedom from materialism. 

What if it all blew away?

As is true for so many of us, my adult life has been one of acquisition. Too much stuff. Although I'm not particularly attached to the things we bought along the way, I’m somewhat of a guardian for inherited items. The worst offenders are the family antiques and paintings for which I’m just a caretaker. Portraits of my fifth great grandparents are out of place on a wall in my little manufactured home, but I can’t kick them out. A mahogany chest built by my grandfather, a present to my Grandma on their 50th wedding anniversary, has moved with us through multiple houses. Grandma’s silver card holder, a gift from Mexican president Porfirio Diaz in the early 1900’s. Some china from Dad’s maiden Aunts who raised him. These things and too many more like them, occupy shelves and wall space in every room. I’ve housed them for years, museum-like, weakly clinging to them as some kind of tangible foundation. They kind of tell me who I am, supporting my own idea of identity. They tell me, as Grandma would say, who "my people" are. I come from these things as they come from me.

I see no way out from under and I’m tired of the responsibility.

When I graduated from college I honestly believed that all I needed as far as material things go, was a room, a mattress, my records, and an ounce of pot.

Most of us spend the first half of our lives acquiring two of everything ever created by mankind and the second half trying to get rid of it all. Now, as we all know, the kids don’t want it either.

What if a hurricane huffed and puffed, offering me another level of freedom, just short of my own transition itself? Ready to strip me bare. What if I dragged the heirlooms out of the house and released them into the vortex? Let them ride their bikes with the wicked witch and leave me naked, to stand alone, unadorned.

What a rebirth that would be.

I know it’s not going to happen, but may I just fantasize for a minute about not having any material goods? Too big a leap? How about if I just had a mattress, music, and a little something for my Glaucoma?

As Steve Martin said in The Jerk…and that’s all I need…