I used to think joy came from stuff. Not fancy cars or big houses, but stuff like books, musical instruments, games, and of course, cooking stuff.
But over the last ten years or so, the universe and I have been playing a game called, "Lose Your Stuff." The game goes like this. The universe asks me to name some stuff that I can't imagine living without. Then the universe takes that stuff away. If my joy level goes down, then I get a point for being right. If my joy level goes up, then the universe gets a point for proving me wrong.
So far, we have played four rounds of this game.
The first round, I bet a bunch of furniture and a house, almost all of which ended up with my first wife after our divorce. It was all stuff that seemed important at the time we got it, so I figured it was a safe bet. But amazingly, I can't even remember what was in the particular collection of stuff. The universe got its first point. I definitely felt more joy without that stuff.
The second time, I bet more carefully. Now I was betting artwork, garden tools, and even, just to hedge my bets, a one thousand dollar espresso machine. Who could live without that?
That all went in the second divorce. And even though I was positive I couldn't live without my one thousand dollar espresso machine, I not only survived, but felt elated.
Now I was starting to get worried. The universe was ahead, two to nothing.
The third round was coming up. I had to be careful. I had a two point deficit. The universe was killing me.
Okay, I thought. It's time to go for broke. I'm betting my life-time supply of books, my beloved kayak, and my bike. Just to be safe, I threw in my guitar. Okay, I hadn't played my guitar in ten years, but the universe didn't need to know that.
That's the pot, universe. These things really bring me joy.
And then I got a call from my housemate. The house we were sharing had burnt to the ground. There was nothing left except smoking embers. Everything I still owned except my truck and the clothes on my back were destroyed. The universe looked at me. Okay, it said, your call.
I tried to be devastated. I really wanted to win this round. But I couldn't deny the lightness, the sense of freedom. Was that joy? Yes, the universe replied. That's joy. You lose. Three nothing.
When I decided to leave the United States, we played our final round (so far).
I bet my truck. The truck I had camped in, had traveled across the country in, and had played the theme song to The Lone Ranger more times than I could remember in.
My last major item left to bet. Surely I couldn't lose this round.
Within hours of me deciding to sell the truck, my mechanic offered to buy the truck. Two days later, he paid me in cash.
Even before the round was over, I knew I had lost. All I could think about was the insurance bills, repair expenses, annual inspections, and that funny noise under the hood I had never been able to identify or fix.
At this point, I have very little left to bet. Maybe my sauerkraut fermentation vessels. I can't say I quite have my life down to where it will fit in two suitcases, but I can see that coming.
And even though I lost the game, the universe taught me an amazing lesson about Joy, which I suspect was its aim all along. And I can say with certainty that I have fully embraced that lesson:
Tis a gift to be simple,
Tis a gift to be free.
Spiritual questions:
- What things give you joy?
- Do they really?
- What would it be like to be free of your stuff?
Dec 27 2018 - This piece was written at the Roundhouse Writing Group, Santa Cruz, Guatemala. The writing prompt for the session was: Write about joy and end with a line from a favorite song..
The photo is by Kool Kats Photography, made available via Wikipedia Commons and Creative Commons. Some rights reserved.
