The title of this post is quite possibly the most truthful thing I have ever written about myself. While I’m not actually homeless, as in living on the streets, and pushing a shopping cart, I currently do not have a furnished bedroom. I’m not complaining. I chose to put 90% of my belongings in storage, while I rent out my beautiful condo. My bedroom furniture will soon be placed in an equally lovely home, situated on an acre of land in Woodland Hills. It’s a friend’s house, and I have lived there twice before in my adult life. Just by coincidence, the opportunity to move back there came at the New Year, when I decided that living below people, in a bottom level condo is not healthy for me, my dog, and my 4 other personalities. It’s also not conducive to a meditation practice, and living mindfully. Mostly, it’s just nice to have a tenant pay my mortgage.
Since Saturday, I have been ‘couch-surfing’, but truthfully just sleeping on my mom’s sofa. I just wanted to sound young and cool, so the term ‘couch-surfing’ appealed to me. I’m way too neurotic to live out of a backpack, and sleep on a different couch each night. In my 20’s maybe (I was in the Army after all), but now…forgetaboutit! I contemplated booking a room at the Marriott in Warner Center (a well-deserved mini-vacation), but then I remembered that…I have a Jewish mother (“You spent money on a fancy, shmancy hotel?” “What…my faux leather loveseat from IKEA is not good enough for you?”) I can hear my mom reminding me (after reading this), “it’s REAL leather!” I’m getting off track here. I want to highlight the fact that, for 3 days, I have lived with only the bare necessities, a toothbrush, a few pair of underwear, the same ill-fitting bra (I wrote it!), a pair of jeans, and my beloved Converse sneakers. Newsflash…I do not miss (or need) any of my other belongings. Everything I have used to exist since Saturday can fit into a shopping cart…with plenty of room for my dog. It’s doable people, and it’s freaking liberating.
I am paying $143.00/month (resist the urge to call me…mother) for a climate-controlled storage unit, so that my ‘stuff’ that I have accumulated for most of my adult life (with a few childhood bobbles – Rubik Cube, and Lego’s…hello!) can live in luxury while I don’t use them. I know this realization is nothing new, it’s not an epiphany, or remotely insightful. Most people understand that consumerism breeds waste, and mindless suffering, but why can’t we stop doing it? Why do your material possessions have a better life than you do? I remember reading somewhere (I’m sure someone will cite it for me) that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over, and over again, each time expecting a different result. Sound familiar?
I have several other definitions of insanity, based on actual experience, but I’ll post about that next time – woohoo!