Shifting

The other day some friends invited me to join them at Ten3, the newish restaurant at the top of the Tram.  The old one was built in the 60s, and did not follow modern specs in terms of decor and accessibility.  The food was also exorbitantly priced and terrible.  The new restaurant is modern and light, filled with art from a Santa Fe gallery, and sporting tall ceilings and elegant light fixtures.

The food, while not cheap, is beyond marvelous, beautifully presented, with flavors that are perfectly matched.  And the view over Albuquerque is superb.  The sunset came through with flaming colours and amazing patterns,

and then the lights of Albuquerque formed a shimmering quilt, spread out on the plain at the base of the mountain.  S said he could only think of the light pollution, and of course that is an issue.  But it was so beautiful.

In addition to getting up and taking pictures, we of course talked, and talked and talked.  I had not seen them for some time, and they have traveled and created and explored both inner and outer vistas.  As have I.  Most relevant to my current focus was a discussion of decluttering.  I am spending the next few months in one place, taking care of business and trying to determine next steps.  An important part of that is deciding whether I want to have a home base and spend more time in it. If I do, then I'll take my stuff out of storage and settle it in place.  If I don't, I need to decide what to do with my stuff.  Will I ever use those dishes?  Will I ever entertain again?  Will I wear those clothes, read those books, look at that art, do those crafts?  Will anyone, other than myself, be interested in the photos and letters and travel journals?  Do I want to leave these things for someone else to toss?  S is going through that with his deceased ex-wife's possessions, especially the journals, which are full of pain.  Does anyone need to revisit that pain?  Not that I have much pain.  And I don't have much stuff, compared to what I did have.  But, if I haven't used it in close to 3 years, is there any point to keeping it? 

There are so many books about this, so many theories.  S described a movie that he and N and J saw on a trip to Japan, Samurai Shifters.  It's a comedy, based on historical fact from the 1600s, when shoguns destroyed power bases by making people move.  The main character, a young scholar, was put in charge of shifting the clan, and he determined that they could not afford to take more than one donkey's pack load apiece.   The lord of the clan was appalled and distraught:  his castle was filled with priceless art from around the world.  The scholar, who had sacrificed his books to show solidarity with his people's tough decisions, sent for fabric to cover up all the walls in the castle.  The lord was then told that he could bring whatever he could describe from memory.  90% of his possessions did not make the cut.

And that is as good a way to decide what to keep as any, I suppose. 

I recalled another decluttering technique, which I came across at least 20 years ago.  Some strange person had decided to limit his possessions to 100 items or some such arbitrary number.  Maybe 52, one for each week of the year.  Or 365, one for each day.  Who knows.  The gist is that a pair of earrings is one item.  A toothbrush is an item, a fork is an item.  You can see that it would not take much to make up the count, when you count things like that.  I wonder if pills counted as separate items, or if you could count the bottle as one?  My friends said, that's essentially a backpack's worth, and that's another way to look at things.  Do I have what it takes to limit my possessions to what will fit in a suitcase?  It is, after all, what I have been living with for the last 3 years.  My books are borrowed from the library, online.  My music is played from files on the computer, my art comes with me in the form of digital photos.  I have an aeropress, in case my hosts only drink tea, and a portable piano keyboard (thanks to my sister's generosity one Christmas.)  The bulk of my needs are provided by my hosts.

When I think of decluttering, I get a little gaspy.  It seems like I have pared down as far as I can.  I have gone from a 2400 sq foot 2-story house with a casita and a mother-in-law apartment/addition to a room in a friend's house and a 10-foot square storage unit.  And 10 or so boxes in a Portland friend's basement, mainly filled with dishes and art.  I brought back 3 boxes and two trunks of memorabilia and 3 small boxes of dishes last fall, and the memorabilia is sitting in my friend's dining room, waiting for my attention.  What do I keep?  What do I toss?  Gasp.   And yet, there's a certain lightness of heart at the contemplation of a possession-free nomadic existence.  I have been a nomad for 3 years, and I think I may be ready for the final shift.

Or maybe not. The other day I went to the storage unit and pulled out a few books (a blank journal, knitting patterns, Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain), my violin music, and a few kitchen items (a scale and a coffee grinder.)  I grabbed the Scarpini Tarot deck as a bonus.  And I'm using them all.  I guess I need them?