Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Is there a 12-step program for people who watch the cable television

program Hoarders? On a mountain weekend recently, I had unlimited

access to cable TV. Since I don't have cable television at home,

having access is like dabbling in a gateway drug. Watching Hoarders

is like watching a train wreck. You feel bad about staring, but you

can't pull your eyes away.

After spending every inside moment for three days watching people

climb over their possessions and attempting to make dinner in their

maggot-infested kitchens, I decided that I had to start getting rid of

things.

I'm not a hoarder. I just don't like to part with things I might use

some day. For instance, if I'm ever asked to bring a Jell-O mold to a

potluck, I have at least six copper molds in different sizes and

shapes. I also have a glass, fish-shaped mold in case Salmon Mousse is

requested. When was the last time I molded lime gelatin mixed with

pineapple and whipped topping into a ring the size of the equator?

Maybe 20 years ago.

The hardest things for me to send on their way are books. Books are

like friends. Lots of books on my shelves make me feel substantial.

But, after watching the hoarders, I yearned for empty space. In one

fell swoop, I packed up 100 books. The public library would only take

two boxes, so I divvied up and schlepped six boxes to three different

branches. Amazingly, I haven't missed any of the books. Yet.

Next to go are clothes. How many t-shirts do I need? Are there

guidelines somewhere? Do I even own two socks that match? The outfit

I wore to my son's wedding 15 years ago won't zip. But, it's so

pretty. And, then there's the really sentimental stuff. My first prom

dress. My mother-in-law's wedding dress from 1934. My sweater sets

that have labels sown in that say, "Karen Ross." And, how can I get

rid of an earring whose mate might show up. That sounds downright

uncaring.

Getting rid of stuff is not only hard physically, it's hard

emotionally. If I give away the Jell-O molds, that closes a chapter on

my life. That chapter was titled, "Fancy Dinner Parties Using The Good

Dishes, Polished Silver and Requiring a Multi-tiered Jell-O Mold. "

Each book on my shelf marks a time in my life or an interest I was

passionate about. Even though I've had many losses over the years, at

least I still have my stuff. Will I lose part of how I define myself

if I downsize?

At a recent religious service, the rabbi spoke of having to clean out

his father-in-law's home after the elderly man passed away. Apparently

his father-in-law thought that boxes full of old National Geographics

would be a wonderful legacy for his family. The gist of the sermon's

message was that what you want to leave as your legacy is not your

stuff, but your values. What are the life lessons that you want your

family to store in their hearts instead of in their garages?

My children have already inherited my values, talents, virtues and

lemon bar recipe. I guess that means I can pack up most everything I'm

not currently using and sell it or give it away. Well, maybe I'll

keep one Jell-O mold. And, the prom dress. And, a couple pieces of my

children's artwork. And, the cookbook with my mother-in-law's

handwritten notes on every page. And, my parents' wedding picture.

And, the t-shirt with doggies on it.

Uh oh! I better get myself to that 12-step meeting pronto. Memo to my

children: You've already received all you need from me. If you want a

copper Jell-O mold though, speak up now.

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Karen Susman speaks internationally and coaches individuals and groups on communication skills. She's known for her content and humor. Contact Karen at 303-756-6939 or karen@karensusman.com. You'll like what you hear. subscribe to NextLevel Tools at www.karensusman.com.