“Make room for the real important stuff.”
~ Tigger, Christopher Robin: The Little Book of
Pooh-isms
I pared down my possessions when I moved from southern California to Northern California and back south again. And gained a few, considering my trusty old truck became untrustworthy and I began using feet, bicycle, public transit, and rideshares to get around. I gained a bicycle and all the goodies it requires to ride it. It keeps me in better shape and is hopefully a worthy contribution toward reducing that devious carbon that’s causing climate instability. I couldn’t help but gain a few books during my travels too, but may have placed enough in local free little libraries, library book sales, and in free boxes at the curb at both ends of California to offset the gains.
Naturally, we also gain keepsakes and family heirlooms that trigger precious memories and whatever new stuff we need for our survival when we've been around for more than a couple of decades. I’ve never been a big shopper and probably fortunate rather than unfortunate to have lived on a modest budget all my life. I’ve had to consider carefully any purchase I’ve ever made, whether for survival or pleasure. The constraint feels annoying at times, but it also means less stuff and less suffering in the long run, if you’re prone to feeling overwhelmed by owning lots of stuff. If not, then my spare lifestyle may be your worst nightmare. Diff’rent strokes.
The suffering of stuff reminds me, of course, of the writing and editing process. The wild, free process of scribing words followed by paring their numbers down (or adding some) and exchanging weak words for strong ones is similar to how we collect the physical accoutrements of our lives, whether for our survival, our physical comfort, or for our entertainment. We writerly types choose the thoughts, embodied in words and phrases, that best meet the needs of our work and the sensibilities of our readers. Then we take another look—many looks—to weed out what isn’t necessary, replacing the weak stuff with better stuff. It’s a natural part of living and a necessary phase of the writing craft.
On that note, I did some NaNoWriMo time in November on a project that my writing buddy Joe DiBuduo and I are polishing up. Another connected short fiction collection, though not so elaborate an extravaganza as The Contest and Other Stories. Stay tuned—we’re hoping for an April 1 publishing date via Tootie-Do Press! I started out great guns, moving forward swiftly and methodically through our first draft, then caught a cold that ebbed and flowed like the tides until today. And of course, I’m also distracted by the great national debate about the fate of our current president progressing in our House of Representatives, a historic event worthy of our attention. The fun and the suffering of living, writing, editing, and publishing definitely go hand-in-hand. At some point, it’s all good.
And what does all the above have to do with jellyfish days—those uncomfortable, incongruous days in which suffering plays a role? Or sundogs? Well, everything and nothing. The crappy and the good, the jellyfish days and the sundogs arrive in the same packages. It’s up to us to edit the content, to polish up the rainbows and weed out and appreciate the jellyfish for the learning experiences that they engender.
Pluck, prune, water, grow. Rinse and repeat.
I wish all beings ease and equanimity in their process of sorting out stuff.
'Nuff said.
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| Redwood Ride: Sequoia Park, Eureka, California Photo © Kate Robinson, 2017 |
