I can’t shake the desire to throw out, give away, and say my fond farewells to things. Objects.
People often do this during Spring. Spring cleaning.
But I do it every month. Assess my surroundings, move things around, look at wear and tear.
Admittedly I have an emotional attachment to certain items that serve as reminders of experiences. I keep pretty things that I simply like looking at.
But even these things sometimes get chopped. Or at least put safely away outside of my view.
The people in my personal life are currently all safe. I’ve carefully assessed and determined at least for now that they’re all worthy of my time and attention.
Fortunately, my true loved ones and I have a mutual understanding. There will be punctuated moments of noncommunication before that reach out. Barring emergencies, it’s how we operate.
I was about to state an exception. My weekly call to my parents every Sunday who live thousands of miles away.
But then I realized, whether it’s a function of routine or simply respect for them, I actually want to call them. Check in. Make sure they’re doing okay, that, as my stepfather always macabrely answers when I ask how he’s doing, they’re still vertical.
With my parents, true friends, and loved ones, the understanding is the same.
The time we spend together is special. We’re not doing so out of duty or simply maintenance. It’s not work. It’s pleasure. Fun. We choose to expend the effort.
They have a place and function in my life and I make room for them. Make the time. It’s effort. Not work.
There’s a difference.