157. The Last Sort

It begs that I leave things better than the ones before me, that I start a new wave of personal follow through, that I acknowledge that my descendants and the ones who love me should not have to clean up my mess.

I cracked the prayer book.  The page title read “Seed of Prosperity”.  My eyes went directly to the line “Look at your possessions. As you observe each one, ask yourself, ‘Do I feel thankful for this?'”

Carol Bridges next bullet point: “Immediately get rid of everything for which you are not thankful.”  Marie Kondo was five years old when Carol’s book hit the shelves.  There is a striking similarity in their premises.

I have been through my drawers and closet two or three times this year.  I could do it again, but there isn’t much left to sort.  Everything fits.  I’m slowly working my way through accumulated shampoos, soaps and lotions.  I have a large collection of art, and gifts I’ve received, but if I still own it, it has meaning.

This page in the Inner Guidebook pops up again and again.  I want to blame it on overuse, a crease in the spine of the book, some sort of physical deformation of the pages.  That just is not true.

What waits?  Photos.  Files.  Boxes of family memorabilia. The hard stuff.  The tedious and tiny.

What keeps me from the task?  From finishing my personal sorting, not to mention sorting out the last of my Mom and Dad’s stuff (the memorabilia, the even older photos)?

When it comes to facing that my days on the planet are numbered, whether it be in the neighborhood of a hundred, or 10,000, it is difficult to prioritize the tedious.  I actually struggle with any prioritization whatsoever.  

If I am going to die this week, do I care what I eat?  No.  Do I want to deal with the monotonous?  No.  But what if there are a few years left?  Then the answers shift to “Maybe yes,” and “Sigh, probably.”

The easiest thing to do is nothing.  I do not feel guilty.  I do not feel motivated.  But there is a pushy little angel behind my spine that cares.  It cares about my kids and my family.  

It begs that I leave things better than the ones before me, that I start a new wave of personal follow through, that I acknowledge that my descendants and the ones who love me should not have to clean up my mess.

That’s big.  It goes far beyond the personal possessions, and into the mind and repeating patterns of society. Time to get to work!

Author: Michele Plumb Stowell

Michele Stowell was a teacher, a hand holder, and encouraging voice. Born an early Gen Xer, she has lived in Western Washington for the duration. Her children, two spectacular genetic daughters and an uncountable number of marvelous scout and school sons and daughters, shine as her biggest impact and her greatest blessing. Just before her 54th birthday, Michele was diagnosed with stage four cancer. Her writing and art work are expressions of the drama and the joy of living earth bound. On October 24, 2021, Michele was released from her physical body, transported to continue her work on other realms.

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