Tuesday, April 12, 2016

My Silly Stuff

I freely admit that I do a lot of goofy shit. I never do any REAL damage or harm except for that one iPad by the pool at Talk to Me Johnny's and his Unicorn's, but for the sake of argument let's just agree that I am a Schleprock and where I go things get broken. But I would certainly rather die than hurt anybody.

I am talking more along the lines of opening the freezer and finding my bra. And I have trouble paying bills on time and I forget how to get to my work and my hair salon and my nearest Ikea, as well as two of my dearest friends' houses, so I have it all in my GPS because I will lose my way.

That kinda stuff.

I just cannot rely on myself. Except for when it comes to two things:

No. 1, I always know what time it is even without looking at a watch or a clock--seriously, I am always within 20 minutes of whatever time it is; whenever it is; wherever I happen to be at the time. I am supremely aware of my relationship to the personal space and time I am occupying on the planet, just not how I got there!

And, No. 2, I always know where my keys are at--oh, I may have to dig through my purse a lot to find them, but they are always there and if they are not in there, they are in the ignition. Period.

But damnitalltohell, I have gone and lost my entire set of keys.

And I am beside myself with grief and worry and sorrow. I am bereft. Dr. Headshrinker calls these words depressiogenic. Words that lead to overly negative thoughts. A mental quagmire that I have worked hard this last year to climb out of and rinse off of me. Basically, they make me sad.

Yes, yes, yes, I know. It can all be replaced; it is ALL just stuff. Just my keys. But that is not the point.

Because on that key ring was THE original house key the Caveman placed in my hand the day we closed escrow and moved into the nightmare that became our forever home 20 years ago this Thanksgiving. He actually carried me over the threshold holding a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine and a canister of salt--for luck and abundance! Because we needed a lot of luck and an abundance of money! And although, we do not eat bread, I still have that canister of salt. And that home.

But, I do not have that stuff; that key.

Also on that key ring was THE original key to my 1969 Porsche 912. The key was handed to me by the son of the original owner along with the original dealer's key fob luckily, the leather broke a little while ago on that fob so it sits in my vintage jewelry box.

I bought my beautiful little red dream car with my very own money. I bought it with the Caveman's ever-present assistance and the severance pay I received from my forever job that only lasted 15 years. That job is gone, but I built my own little business so no one could ever fire me again, excuse me, "remove redundancy in the workplace". I am still here and stronger than ever.

But, I do not have that stuff; that key.

Just stuff. So, silly. My silly stuff, but my head is swollen from bawling over losing my silly stuff; those keys.

In another lifetime, I walked away from all my stuff that is how I know I can call it stuff. When I left Sgt. Airborne, I simply packed-up my personal stuff and picked-up my baby Hero and walked out the front door leaving all our stuff behind. I mailed that ring of keys back to Sgt. Airborne from the safety of my parents home amidst their stuff, and I let him deal with all our stuff as I put my parent's house key on my new keyring.

I try not to think of that household full of that life. But when I do, I remember that when I REALLY let that stuff go and I had no stuff, there was nothing more for anyone to take from me ever again. And the stuff I DID possess was my love and integrity and my purpose and my child and the safety of 3500 miles.

In some ways, I already know the key to a meaningful life: That all a person's very most important stuff does not fit into a pocket nor a purse.

xoxo Darya