Things I’ll Always Be

I’m packing to move at the moment. It’s laborious – physically and emotionally. With a minimalist mindset, I have the amount of “things” of most hoarders, specifically in the yarn and book sections. I’m trying to get rid of as many books as possible for a large number of reasons. I live in New York City so space is at a premium and after a few moves, lugging all the books in the world gets tough. There’s also emotional baggage related to a lot of these books. Some are from relationships past and have moved through several states of living.

But as I go through my books, I keep finding pens. Le pens, mostly, a specific type of thin-lined pen in a wide variety of colors. Try as I may get rid of books, I will always read books with a pen in hand – underlining and scribbling in the margins. It’s what I’d call a core characteristic of my being. I forget it often when I don’t have the opportunity to read for a period of time or when I read less philosophical books. But whenever I have that type of a book, a pen finds a way into my hand and it fulfills a specific part of my soul I don’t know exists until that moment. I’m satisfied in that moment as a whole.

In relationships, we often have to change and bend. Very rarely are interpersonal relationships like enzymes; no two humans fit together so perfectly they’re a lock and key match. There’s shoving, often awkward grunting and compromise along the way. As I look at a sizable pile of books in the “Donate” pile, I realize I’m not throwing away my core personality characteristic but a bunch of tools to get there. That’s OK. I can buy more books. I can’t buy me. I can’t lose myself trying to bend like an enzyme. I’ve got to instead work to be satisfied with just me.

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