Detaching

I have always admired refugees and other immigrants who could risk leaving behind houses, family members, country, often professions, and all else, which many of us use to as anchors to give us a sense of identity.     When one leaves all this behind, one has a rich opportunity to experience who one is apart from all those paper Mache anchors.

Just this morning I was listening to an interview with a woman who was, I believe, an attorney in Yemen.  She and her 14 children and grandchildren left behind many so-called esteemed profession jobs, reputations, and possessions.  The woman whose name I did not get to make a note of since I was driving seemed very clear that they did not want to leave their country, but felt that they did not have any other viable option at this time.   I am sure that she and her family are sad to be uprooted. They, as has long been true for other refugees and immigrants, may have to work at low-paying non-professional jobs, all live together in small apartment and face, which so of us would consider, hardships.  Yet, I did not get the impression that this woman and her family thought that they were leaving themselves behind in Yemen. They are taking what are essentially they to wherever they end up.

Later I was talking with a friend whose apartment has been inhabited by bedbugs.  Among other tasks required to get rid of the bedbugs is the task of washing all one’s laundry.  Unlike the refuges fleeing Yemen, he has three large bags of just clothes plus bed linens and other washable belongings.  We were laughing about how much many of we humans, even those of us who have a relatively small income, can accumulate.   We not only accumulate but also feel as if some part of us is dependent on these things to exist.    My friend is not a hoarder, but has accumulated a lot of “stuff” which feels/seems very important to him.

Another friend has, for the past 8 years,  lived in the home of her deceased sister-in-law so that she could raise her nephew in the home and school system in which he was most familiar.  Soon he will graduate from school and she will move full time back to a home with her husband. They will either live in the home they shared prior to the death of his sister or they will get another place.  She was saying that it would be relatively easy for her to get rid of most things she has not used in eight years. It may be more difficult for her husband who has maintained that home and lived part-time with she and their nephew.  My friend is also a very spiritual person and sees the ease of letting go of a lot of “stuff” as a blessing.

I moved last August from a 3 stories plus basement and garage home to a two bedrooms, 2 baths, and small garage villa/condo.  I easily got rid of a lot of “stuff” although I still brought more books, artwork and kitchen items than I needed.  When I have been here a year this coming August it is my plan to get rid of anything I have not used in the past year. The exception will be anything my son might want. Although it is nice to have room for my home office and the necessary office equipment and to still have room for overnight guests I need to remind myself that for much of my adult life I have lived in communal housing or in very small apartments. My four siblings, my parents and I spent much of my childhood in a three-room house without running water or electricity. Any stress we had was not because of the lack of space to put “things” or even the lack of “things”.   The stress we had was related to the unhappiness of my mother and the marriage relationship with my father. My mother, who at 95 recalls this time of our life as idyllic, was very shameful of being poor and certainly had not been raised to bear the burden of the hard physical labor of living under such conditions and trying to grow and can enough food to feed our family.  Still, for a different person or in a different relationship it might have been easier.  Perhaps, however, she would have been just as unhappy.  I have never been convinced that the ideal profession for my mother was being a mother and house person. When, long after I had left home, she became an LPN and worked in a hospital she seemed much happier although she still did not seem to enjoy being a parent or grandparent except in very small doses. She was not born at a time when it was easy to make a choice to forego becoming a parent and focusing on being a professional woman although there were lots of women working in factory and other jobs while the “men and a few women” went off to war.

In any case my mother and even I grew up in a family and a time when one’s identify was closely tied t one’s profession and/or roles. The Christian church and or those values with which most of my relatives identified seemed to strongly associate one’s worth with ones roles.  I do not think that this reflected the teachings of Jesus, but it certainly reflected my understanding of what the Christian church was then teaching.

Individual such as the woman and her family from Yemen challenge me to think in terms of a different reality-a reality, which assumes an essence, which is not related to roles, possessions, or titles.  I am challenged to continue the process of letting go of my attachments to being this middle-class, formally educated person. Moving to Florida where most people do not know my background or my attachments has been helpful, although the fact that I still work part time, have a web page and a blog and live in a middle class area make it easy for me to hang on to an character who purports to be me, but who I know is not me.

If I am going to continue the journey of claiming myself I will have to continue to look for teachers among the homeless, the immigrants, the refugees, those in prison and others who have, for a variety of reasons let go of “stuff and roles”.   I        no longer have an office next to a facility, which provided meals and a variety of other services to those who were homeless or near homeless.   There I had daily, sometimes in your face, teachers. Staying more spiritually centered was easier that it is in my very comfortable Florida villa with other very comfortable and “respectful” individuals.