I have decided that I cannot be connected with anything that brings me so much joy that it interferes with my life, or overshadows it in a way that I become somewhat obsessed with that object. In doing so, I keep my life simple and can be more focused and stop worrying about the ‘thing’ for which I have so much affection. I thought it was called attachment disorder, but that's something entirely different, apparently what I am is part of a minimalist movement.
My ex-husband helped me with that when after I left him he threw out everything I own. And I do mean everything. He did a favor for my teenage kids as well, threw out all of their belongings too. Someone who was garbage picking that day hit the motherload. So now I am 44 y/o I have a garage with a few boxes, and apt and no storage facility of any kind
Here is a quote from Fight Club:
“It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.”
― Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club
― Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club
Thanks again douchebag ex-husband. I know I can do anything. I am a minimalist. Except when it comes to clothes. Even then I’m not typical of a woman.
For example: When I was married, my ring was absolutely breathtakingly stunning. I loved it. I stared at it every day. I got my nails done all the time just to make sure it was highlighted by a perfect manicure, I worried about it, checked it, cleaned it, thought surely one day someone would chop off my finger to get it. That ring became part of my identity, I worried over it so much it owned me. It identified me and it tortured me. It elevated me in social standing or so I thought. I sold it. It was a anvil off my chest.
Example 2: My BMW Z3. It was hot. A convertible, dark blue, tan interior. It turned heads. When I was in it, I felt like a movie star or Charlie’s Angels or something to that effect. I babied it, I talked about It, I obsessed over it, I worried about it, I paid a lot of money maintaining it, I worshipped the car. It supposedly elevated me to a new level of class. I traded it in, I cried like a baby, it was a monkey off my back.
Example 3: My hair. It’s red and curly and everywhere I go, every single day of my life, it receives commentary and attention. It’s a curse, it’s a special power. The attention it draws has caused love, adoration, crushes, women crushes, fawning, embarrassment, sexual harassment, undue attention, an air of unprofessionalism, and a general message that …I want to have sex … if I wear it down. If I wear the hair down, in public, in general I can count on someone behaving in a way that they are sure that I want to have sex with them or that they can behave inappropriately towards me. For instance, yearly work conference, biggest guy in the system comes over pulls on my hair over and over again and tells me ‘oh what I want to do’ and smells it and declares how much he loves my hair. Inappropriate. I cut it off… No I didn’t but I wear it in a bun most of the time.
So in other words, things that own me or I adore too much, I get rid of. Next things on my list are my ultra amazing bed in which I spend too much time adoring it and the way it makes me feel (alone) and my jetta – of which I am too fond and think about and obsess about too much. And my hair is next on my list, I’m wondering if I should cut it off and be done with it … relying on the fact that I can attract husband no 3 purely by my wit and smile. Unlikely. It would be like Sampson (sp?) and Delilah I would surely get fired, be an old maid, and lose all of my social standing, (choke) power, charisma and influence.