the unanticipated costs of being zen

For quite a few posts I have been describing (and indirectly extolling) my attempts of reducing material possessions. From tearing up personal photographs to discarding CDs, I thought I was able to not let it affect me but rather be cold, clinical and pragmatic about it. After all I keep telling myself that I need to adopt a more zen-like existence; after all they are just things. That was what I kept telling myself.

But days after doing so, I do feel quite empty and down. Although I couldn’t really work out what exactly that caused it, I simply blamed it on the major upheavals of the recent weeks. But a colleague stopped me yesterday and commented that I must feel drained, even a little bit, in throwing all these things out. And it hit me that I do. Subconsciously I have destroyed a significant number of things that act as placeholders for various memories (that may be happy or not so) that have marked the passage of my life. While I can look at these objects to be simply material goods, they, I have come to realise are also physical reminders of who I am and where I have been been.

While it is too late to mourn the loss and I certainly don’t regret what I did, it is still a revelation and something I learnt about the ‘materiality of memories’. One sacrifices a lot more than just the cost of the goods thrown out. In reaching for a state of zen, one is required not only to give up these memories but perhaps develop a much more non-attached stance towards life and living. Such is the cost of becoming more zen.

good homes wanted for giveaway memories

Tonight I parted with even more memories. This house-moving has really come at an interesting time; a time when I am set to finish a major chapter in my life and yet the following chapter is not only unwritten but I don’t have much of an inkling what it might be. As I look down at the finishing line of this PhD candidature, I am also beginning to look for work. After much soul-searching and discussions, I have decided that I will keep my employment options very wide open. That means I will be looking for work beyond Australia. So the main concern is what in the hell will I do with these things when and if I leave to work overseas? I can’t see myself forking out money for storage for an indefinite time and neither can I imagine sending them overseas with me.

With such a mindset, I am acutely aware that I need to go Zen, to reduce my worldly possessions as I make this temporary transition from one apartment to another, in preparation for the potentially much more serious migration in the year to come.

Tonight I dealt with my CDs and DVDs. I have 2 large cupboards full of them-over 500 at least in total. After my adoption of mp3s, the iPod and iTunes in the past 4 or so odd years, I have hardly needed to venture into these cupboards. What I discovered was 2 cupboards-full of dormant memories. Each CD has its own unique memory and they are evocable so easily. I can remember exactly why I bought the CD, the time in my life when I used to listen to it; the events, emotions, people and places that revolved around that time. I also remember exactly where I bought them; some from far away cities during my travels while some are gifts from various friends from different phases of my life. All of these memories evoked even without me opening up the covers and listening to the contents. To me, who had spent years trying to understand how peoples’ memories are evoked when they listen to their mp3s, this is indeed a remarkable phenomenon and a surprising revelation. Getting rid of these CDs is much more difficult than tearing up my photographs.

And yet I did, as many ended up in the bin. These are the ‘mistake purchases’ or CDs that I bought simply for that one or two tracks. Of course I have ripped them into digital format but still, it was tough.

Of course my flatmate suggested that I could sell them but how? Where do I go? Plus my taste is just so eclectically ‘off-centred’. I am not sure who would buy them from me. So, I really tried to be as discriminating as possible; ignoring the sentimental tugs of the memories associated with each CD and judged it solely on its musical merit. While it helped a bit, I am still left with a large collection. So, some will go to friends I know who will appreciate them – particularly the opera boxsets and classical collections. The same goes for my music book collection – a sizeable one I might add. Those that I have not thrown out, I am trying to figure out who might want to have them.

I really do feel like I am giving away my children, like adopting out my own flesh and blood. I wish to find them good homes; home where they can be loved and appreciated. I don’t really care about getting any money for them. After all, the money has already been spent when I purchased them. The least I can do now is to find them good foster parents.