Minimalism, the daily art of owning only those things that bring joy and purpose to your being. While I secretly crave a Marie Kondo life, the truth is I see potential joy and purpose in almost everything. Over the last decade we have gathered a lot of potential. I have been in mourning over letting go—my books, letters, gifts, memories.

Then my friend Frances had wise words for me. I paraphrase: maybe home isn’t a place, but a mindset. Migrating birds must take it with them.

My perspective shifted like one of those stone puzzles in a cinematic temple of doom. With a resounding click, and some appropriate B movie music score in the background, I made a connection.

We often talk of being othered, of being an out of place diaspora, of being without roots. Most of us feel that way regardless of race, sex, religion, education, etc. I know I grew up feeling that way. One day it occured to me that being between is also a valid place to exist. I can think of it as not belonging in two worlds, or as being a part of both.

I can worry about my responsibility for all the objects we’ve gathered over the last decade, or I can enjoy the process of letting it all go. Is it dead weight or dead wait?

The opposite of dead wait is living forward.







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