Reading time ~ 3 minutes
There are two items I will never relinquish. Curiously, both are blue, which is not a color that typically appeals to me except in the metaphorical sense when I’m mired in a less-than-sunny mood.
One is this Yeti. It feels odd to pay homage to a mug, but shoutout to Bonnie who pre-empted me in the comments on Monday! I love this azure beauty. A true “travel” container that goes with me everywhere—it’s flown on a 747 to Spain and rides by my side in the cupholder of my car whenever I leave the house. I call it my “security Yeti,” which is not entirely an exaggeration.
Marie Kondo’s tidying advice to keep only those things that “spark joy” is so cloyingly perky that it’s tempting to dismiss as cliché. Despite what you saw in the photo on Wednesday, I can vouch for the power of clearing clutter. The truth is, I carry this metal mug wherever I go, because it cheers me. Unequivocally, it sparks joy. It also does an admirable job of fulfilling its function: an empty vessel to insulate liquid, it sustains heat—dregs of unfinished tea from the morning are still warm at the end of the day; it keeps cold things cold, even after 24 hours, frozen bits float at the bottom—remnants of ice cubes from the day before.
I can be forgetful, and I lose things. I am also an expert worrier. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I sometimes worry in advance about the day when I may misplace my Yeti for good. There have been short-lived scares already. This is nuts, I know. My rational brain assures me that if this happens, I can replace it. Even if they no longer make this color, I can find an adequate substitute or track down something similar on the internet. But such is the inexplicable nature of feelings and the way we attach to things (and habits and identities and jobs and people). My relationship is with this Yeti. Once it’s gone, it cannot be replaced.
The other object I cannot do without is this small, painted stone I picked up 20 years ago at a funky shop in Bolinas, California.
I had gone looking for it after coming across its twin at a 4-day workshop for doctors exploring the topics of Death and Mystery. Although not themes we commonly encounter in orthopedics, the gathering ranks high on my list of most meaningful experiences. Near the end of the weekend, we did a sandplay exercise. Popularized by a Carl Jung protégé, you choose whatever you’re drawn to from shelves filled with trinkets and figurines and then position them however you wish on a sand-covered surface. There were 6 of us sharing the tray, so we each had a wedge on which to lay out our treasures. Impromptu, we were asked to interpret our items and their arrangement. I selected several things, but this stone was my favorite: a pair of open hands in a gesture of release, liberating a dove. I explained to the group that for me, this image represented freedom and peace. From the perimeter of the circle our facilitator, a physician whose writing and way of being greatly inspire me, motioned that I should roll the stone over—I hadn’t realized there was writing on the back.
The benefits of purging are more than material. Advocates rightly claim that our external world mirrors the internal—a chaotic space reflects a muddled mind or disorder in our psychospiritual state. Our environments reinforce each other in a reciprocal cycle. The success of stripping away mess and distraction is not measured by the volumes we discard—it is the clarity that comes from what we choose to retain—the process distills down the things we have to reveal what we most value, what we love, what is essential.
I get the irony that I am attached to an object that encourages me to let go, especially one that lacks obvious utility, like my Yeti. But I keep it as a literal touchstone, occasionally carrying it in my pocket and running my thumb over its soothingly smooth surface when I am anxious and clingy. Through the years, I’ve turned this talisman over and over a thousand times trying to integrate its message: freedom and peace are the flip side of surrender.
If you like this post, please share.