They say that “things” don’t matter; that they don’t have a “soul.” I only have to look at my weekly trash or my donations pile to concede the point. At the same time, the things that make my house a home and a haven – well, that’s a different story.
Gazing out on my .67 slice of suburban rootedness, my heart goes to the story we continue to create in this chapter of our life. Half of the trees, bushes and perennials were gifted from neighbors, happy to share their bounty. Gifted! The birdbath transported down from Connecticut, the pair of matching antique planters snapped up at a Pfafftown estate sale, the “whimsical miss” statue snagged at another estate sale just two doors away, and, oh, the elephant – gifted from my who-could-have-imagined friend and neighbor because she knew it would remind me of my much-missed sister with the abiding penchant for elephants.
Yes, I know. All of this translates as personal meaning attributed to mere “things.” And really, that’s the point. The mere “things” that occupy the spaces of your life and mine remind us that things hold something intangible. They hold what matters and is meaningful to us – generosity extended, a friendship in bloom, a connection unexpected. Perhaps even love.
That’s why I shut out the well meaning, practical voices who insist that a thing is just a thing. I know better.
The dark side of things imbued with meaning is that we may come to clutch them too tightly. Confuse them with what they represent and unwittingly fall into thinking that the thing is the message, when really, it is merely the messenger. That’s what makes the ability to let go a grace, especially as we get older. Now, as I gaze upon my meaningful things, I not only look backward to the story behind them; I also look forward to releasing all of it – that pair of planters, that birdbath, that statue – all will be gifted forward to others as suits their nature and their meaning in my life. The mere thought of this brings me joy! Because when you think about it, our relationships are cemented, remembered and made ever more sacred by the giving and gifting of things.
When my brother’s daughter, Katie, graduated from college last year, I gave her cold hard cash. I also gifted her a ring imbued with a deep and poignant family history related to my father’s early passing (we were in middle school) and my brother’s journey to the former Czechoslovakia to meet our father’s people, our unknown relatives. My heart told me that his daughter was the rightful heir to this modest but meaningful piece. As we gathered to celebrate Katie’s achievement, my brother and I told the story from that chapter in our shared history. And, now Katie would be part of that intangible, a story that unfolded more than 50 years ago. All prompted by a wee piece of jewelry.
Instead of holding on, I’m gifting forward. I’m telling the stories behind my gifts because that is where the memory, the connection and the love is stored. It is how a thing becomes a vessel that holds our meaning and makes our lives meaningful. What happens next is not my business or my concern. My heart is peaceful. And yet, who knows? Maybe those stories will live on, perpetuating the meaning and reinforcing the joy of gifting things forward.
