stuff

Yesterday, I had gold hoop earrings and a ring in the palm of my hand, both gifts from my parents. My three prized possessions, the things I’d grab from the bedside table if my apartment were on fire, weighed nothing. I envisioned how throwing them across the room or off a cliff would feel the same as holding them.

It became immediately clear to me that the same would go for any three of my things: my relationship, my apartment, my health. That what we think of and relate to so strongly as ours is as light and impermanent as air. These things are our baby blankets, our wallets. I woke up without mine one morning in Ireland, red-faced, patting every inch of my body and my luggage, only to realize I would go on without it.