Minimalist Life/Dear Body

Dear Body

I have two posts in my head, and I wasn’t sure which to post first.  So I’m posting both.  Two for the price of one.  You’re welcome.

Minimalist Life

In my head, I imagine living in a home that is sparse yet cosy, uncluttered yet full of character.  Unfortunately though I live in a home which a friend once jovially referred to as a bric-a-brac shop (you know who you are!).  I can’t really disagree.  So as I mentioned in my last post, I’ve decided to get shot of lots and lots of stuff.  I’m now 18 days into a month-long minimalism game, and today hoofed 18 items out of the flat.  Altogether i’ve managed to get rid of 171 items.  Only 325 to go by the end of March!  All the way through the month so far i’ve felt like choosing what to get rid of has been quite easy.  Even when I was clearing out a set of drawers and came across a pile of 21st birthday cards (quite recent cards then *cough*).  I looked through them all, saw a lot of names I didn’t even recognise, saw a lot more I did.  I had a bit of a cry at some of them, kept maybe 5 for sentimental reasons and chucked the rest.  I did the same with cards I found from my 30th.  I have the memories, I don’t need the cards anymore.

Yesterday though, I felt for the first time that I was struggling to pick things to add to the daily chuck-a-thon.  Not because I’m running out of items to choose from (if only), but because actually it hit home again that I’m slowly throwing away my past.  Thinking about doing so is refreshing; the reality is more sobering.  I think the reluctance is stemming from the acknowledgement that if I keep what is really important to me, I’ll not have a lot left.  It’s like holding a mirror up to my life and seeing nothing much in the reflection.  An empty life.  In actual fact though, I know my life isn’t empty.  I could feel in my gut this fleeting tension, a tiny signal prompting me to keep my life as it is.  Don’t change, just stay here where it is safe and comfortable and familiar.  But i’ve have 40 years of that.  Or at least 27 where I lived away from home, an adult making my way in the world.  All these things I have are not the past, they are not the memories, they are just space-sucking entities that no longer bring so much joy, but just feel like a weight around my neck, dragging me back to a past that I need to move on from.  Not because it is an unhappy past, but because the present and the future are even brighter, so now it is time to focus on them.

 

Dear Body

Dear Body,

Despite the fact we’ve been together for 40 and a bit years now, I’ve never written you a letter. Never called you. Not even a casual text. I can only apologise. I thought it was about time I remedied that. Mainly because there is something I need to say….

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I’ve taken you for granted all these years.

I’m sorry I’ve been ashamed of you for many of those years.

I’m sorry I’ve said nasty things to you, belittled you and told you that you were no good.

I’m hoping in writing this that you can forgive me.  Although, you know what, I know you will.  You always have.  No matter the mountains of crap food I’ve shovelled into you, you’ve kept going.  All the nights I didn’t get enough sleep, you’ve gotten up in the morning and gone about your day.  All the days and nights i’ve taken you on a bit of a booze-fest, you’ve complained a bit the next day, but still you forgive me eventually and we crack on together, ready to fight another day.

I’ve always tried to make out that I was giving you an easy life by parking us on the couch, saving you from a beasting in the gym.  Yet when I do take you, you do a pretty great job considering the extra weight I’ve made you carry around all these years.  In fact the more we go, the better you seem to be, but then I go a fuck it all up by sitting on that couch again.

In my heart of hearts (okay, your heart), I knew I was doing you a disservice, but I’m afraid I just was too chicken to admit it to you.  But I can’t pretend any longer.  I know I’ve put you through a lot, but it’s time to take care of you.  Time to reward you for all the hard work you’ve done for me, day in, day out.

If I promise to treat you properly, the way you ought to be treated, will you just keep on going, as you have been?

Don’t give up on me.  I promise I’ve stopped giving up on you.

I know I don’t always act like it, but I do love you.

From Me xxx

4 thoughts on “Minimalist Life/Dear Body

  1. Ah…that’s why I love blogs. Two for the price of one, both being fabulously written.

    I’m a terrible hoarder of my past and I’m even worse at being nice to my poor body. Slowly does it…you’re doing grand xxx

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