On Preservation

Over the last week, I have been on a forced rest, taken down swiftly by a nasty flu virus. (If you are thinking of yelling at me about the flu shot, you can get off your soapbox because my sister has already done the honours). In a haze of lozenges, fitful naps, and bowls of soup, I have been watching a lot of informative television.

I'm not sure what the show was that I was watching yesterday (I think it might have been something about Nordic cookery), but I learned about the Global Seed Vault. If you don't know about the Global Seed Vault, it is a repository of crop seeds from almost every country in the world, stored in Svalbard. The permafrost conditions and storage facility ensure that the seeds will be kept safe in the case of manmade or natural disaster. It has the capacity to hold some 4.5 Million seed samples and currently holds about 860,000. 

In my flu-ridden, drug-infused haze, relief washed over me. I'm really glad someone is preparing for disaster.  

Human beings have always had a great capacity to both destroy and preserve, when the desire strikes. Though we don't always see destruction in a positive light, it is part of the cycle of creation. Things need to be destroyed or overtaken in order for other things to be possible.

The beauty of it all is that of course, we have the capacity to come away with knowledge so often, that can in turn inform our new creations. We are naturally prone to preserve, everything from human beings (let's ask the archaeologists) to books (thank you, librarians throughout history).

Beyond the obvious that preservation is linked to the memory of who we are and how far we've come along, there is another purpose to it and that is to hedge our bets in the face of uncertainty.

When we don't know what's coming down the pipeline, we are likely to maintain some semblance of sameness in order to keep the integrity of the things that we know best. It is in some way, a false, but noble guarantee that we are trying to give ourselves.

We sometimes try to preserve out of fear because of uncertainty. That act in itself works against us because it closes us off to how the future unknowns can actually impact, enhance or change us.

We need to be agile enough to be able to move outside of the confines of our current situation. I have always grappled with this idea. It applies to us professionally and personally. How do we move without losing our sense of purpose?

We endeavour to keep the essence of, or the most critical parts of things that represent, in the smallest piece, who we are. The world is not a vacuum and it is certainly foolhardy to think that we can keep everything and adapt to changing conditions. Things are never going to be "the way they were" because they change instantaneously and often. Instead, we keep those most crucial things that when placed into new environments, will be in their very core, similar to what we know about our past. It is about having the essence right to be able to undertake adaptation when everything around us changes.

The Global Seed Vault is exactly that idea. We know that the climate is changing. We don't know what soil conditions will be like, how much rainfall or arable land there will be, whether the chemical composition of soil will change. But we have (literally), the seed of potential.

That's enough to give anyone hope.

More reading on preservation

Mali's Librarians Saving Ancient Manuscripts from Rebel Forces

Svalbard Global Seed Vault

The Effect of Music on Dementia Patients

The Year of Ease

Every year, I pick a word that I want to make a conscious part of my daily life. I'm not a believer in resolutions; if you have the desire to do something, you'll find a way to do it. The start of the year has never been enough of a motivation for me to start a new habit. That being said, I do believe the the conscious remembrance of something regularly, eventually makes it part of your life.

In the past, my words have really reflected where I am mentally and emotionally. When I first moved out on my own, I picked the word "Joy" because I needed to find that in a world that was going to bring me new challenges. Other words have included "fire" and "wonder."

This year, I'm choosing the word "Ease."

We all know what the word means in daily life. When I looked up the meaning, the definition included:

make (something unpleasant, painful, or intense) less serious or severe.

move carefully, gradually, or gently.

As someone who has lived off of stringent schedules and a regimented lifestyle, it is difficult to imagine living with a sense of ease - it makes me uneasy. I suspect that you would have to pry my schedules and calendars out of my cold, dead hands. And I'd probably come back from the dead to snatch it off of you again.

But life dictates something different this year. Mostly, having to fight your way through your days leaves you depleted and fatigued. A few days off from work have shown me just how tired I am and I have spent far more time than necessary just sitting there, and doing nothing. It has driven me to the brink of insanity because I feel like I should be doing something, anything.

What I have realized in the large swaths of time that I have spent denting my couch is that in order to actually employ any ease, we need to be forgiving of ourselves, and show compassion to ourselves. If you are anything like me, you're good with the sharp, pointy words aimed at yourself. Phrases like, "you should have known better" and "If you don't go to the gym, you're just being lazy" and "you ought to be more careful" can quickly become a cycle of self-blame.

What good comes of it? I have never given myself a good scold and then felt really jazzed to do whatever I was meant to do. Fear is a good motivator, but certainly isn't the best and more importantly, isn't healthy if employed slavishly. If anything, we make it more difficult for ourselves when we pigeon-hole ourselves into our obligations.

A sense of ease means giving yourself permission to forgive yourself, and to show some compassion to yourself when things don't go the way they are meant to. It means just letting go a little bit and asking yourself whether the end result is worth the flogging. It issn't the same as pushing yourself or scaling up your dreams. It's beating yourself into submission, and oftentimes to unrealistic expectations you wouldn't hold others to.

After 2016, which, terrible as it was around the world, wasn't a personally horrible year. There were some extremely difficult decisions I had to make, but I came away with a better aligned sense of self from it. This isn't a terrible thing. That means that this year is a year in which I can ease into my days, and grant myself the go-ahead of take the foot off the gas pedal just a little bit.

I deem it will be a year of growth and of focus on myself and the ever-elusive "next steps", whatever those are. No climbing mountains. No leaps of faith. No going the distance. Just a gentle, care-filled year.

Do you have a word of the year that you can share?

On Filling Up

““Reading is the work of the alert mind, is demanding, and under ideal conditions produces finally a sort of ecstasy.””

— E.B. White

This has been the summer of reading. Since early May, I have read 14 books. To some, this might not be a lot. There are 52 book challenge people out there who have read far more than I have at this point in the year. 14 books in four months is exceedingly high for me because I'm a slow reader. I like to mull things over, chew on words, reread sentences. It's a wonder I've ever made it through anything in a timely fashion. 

Anybody who knows me that I've been a reader for a very, very long time. It's one of my favourite things to do with my spare time. This last year, my mind was full of other things: thoughts that required careful analysis, many worries (unfortunately), a burgeoning workload and lots of plans. Reading fell a bit by the wayside, as did writing. I only managed about four books the entire six months before that. 

In early spring, I picked up a book that a friend had recommended and devoured the whole thing in four days. It wasn't a particularly good book. But I couldn't put it down. I wanted to absorb every single word as quickly as I could. The next week, I got three more books from the library and managed to blaze through them all. This has kept up until now.

What I realized was that I was missing some fundamental part of me for a while. I needed to fill up on something. Really only other readers can understand it. I was thirsty. It felt like I hadn't opened my eyes in a while and when I did, I took in everything that could possibly be seen.

Filling up is so important. I'm not going to use the words, "nourish your soul" or somesuch. Filling up on things that you value, and that are of value is critical to your well-being. Just as we'd fill up on good, delicious meals, it's important to care for our minds and hearts in the same way. For some, like me, it's the simple act of spending a silent evening tucking into a book that I've been waiting for. For others, it might be hitting the rock-climbing gym. 

We each have a cache of energy from which we draw to function in our daily lives and we sometimes forget that those stores can become depleted from stress or worry. I forget this often, even though I'm regimented about taking care of myself. There is something special about giving yourself time that's off-schedule to absorb some of that magic back.

Books have always driven me - they are a fundamental part of who I am as a writer. Stephen King in his book "On Writing" called books "uniquely portable magic." I believe it. They go hand-in-hand with the work that I do. They make me want to be a better writer and a better learner. They draw things from me - much like music does - that brighten my world.

There are many things that are uniquely portable magic for all of us. Look for the thing that fills you up and then, go have a lot of it.

If you love to read:

The Magic of the Book: Hermann Hesse on Why We Read and Always Will on Brainpicker

The Psychological Comforts of Storytelling on The Atlantic

My Favourite Bookstore on Read it Forward

On Writing: Memoirs of the Craft by Stephen King

On Emotional Immunity

"I ask not for a lighter burden, but for broader shoulders." ~ Hebrew Proverb

I have never liked driving. I didn't get my full licence until I was in my early twenties. This is because every time I got on the road I was absolutely terrified. I was terrified mostly of operating something so much larger than than I was, of not being able to anticipate the actions of others, and of going anywhere too fast. 

When I got my licence, I thought, okay that's over with, and now I never have drive again. This seems now like the exactly the opposite direction that my thoughts should have been going. My mother advised me (much to my annoyance) that the only way I was going to get over my fear of being on the road is if I got on the road. I'd have to go on the freeway for small stretches at least and I'd have to practice until my reflexes and my understanding of the road got better. I hated every moment of it, but in the end, it did get better. If for nothing else, than for necessity.

I still have days when, if I have to go to a new place, and I'm alone, and it's dark and raining, or I have to find street parking (which is an absolute battle in a city like mine), I'll be nervous. Sometimes that nervousness is debilitating and makes me feel nauseated. Most times, there is no way around it.

Therapists have long encouraged a particular type of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy known as Exposure Therapy. In exposure therapy a patient is exposed to their stressor without the context of danger in order to overcome their anxiety. It is used quite a lot in specific phobias and even in post traumatic stress disorder. The thinking is that once the threat of the stressor is removed, the patient is able to exert some control over their anxiety and through a series of increasing steps, eventually the fear will dissipate. It has had some very cool applications as well.

I have been thinking a lot about this idea of the constant exposure to stimuli that we would rather avoid in real life. Social media and how close the world is now, has made it increasingly difficult to get away.  It's a rather romantic notion to be able to start anew somewhere away from all the things that bother us. That's not possible, nor is it, in some respects, wise.

I like to think that being exposed to the things and people we'd rather not deal with is a way of building up emotional immunity. It helps us home in our coping mechanisms so that over time, feeling disembodied, out of control and anxious starts to fade. We start to be able to handle it a little bit better. Running away is often easy and safe. Being present and staying with that discomfort is often difficult and undesirable.

In his book "Antifragile", Nassim Nicolas Taleb coins this concept of anti-fragility. Things that are fragile, often break when exposed to stressors. Things that are resilient often stay the same. Things that are anti-fragile gain from chaos - they get better. While not all things can be classified as chaotic, they certain can feel like it when your internal sense of control is shaken. Exposure then, tests the emotional boundaries that we have and can help us modulate our reactions, helping us to "get better" over time. It appears to be a way of building up your body's immune response on a psychological level.

Last week was a rather difficult week at work. My mother called in me while I was in the midst of a nervous breakdown (not really, but tears weren't far) to ask my how my day was going. I told her that it had been difficult and that I was doing things that were actually legitimately beyond my capability. Being ever the teacher of tough lessons, she said to me, "You know life is difficult. So just deal with it and get it done."

Often, the best ways to face our greatest anxieties (or the small, continuous anxieties that plague our daily lives) is to indeed just deal with them. Head on. In her small, and often tough love way, my mother has taught me this. This lesson has been critical for me to learn to handle my own anxiety around certain things and certain people. Over time, it simply becomes easier to go from "not this again" to "fine. it's happening and I'll deal with it because I know how." Truly, it's just a little better to give yourself some credit in that way.

A few good reads on this topic:

Thin Slices of Anxiety on Brain Pickings

A Servant to Servants by Robert Frost

Knowledge Makes Everything Simpler on Farnam Street

Affective Outcomes on Virtual Reality Exposure for Anxiety and Specific Phobias: A Meta Analysis (Parsons and Rizzo) in the Journal of Behavour

On Clean Slates

I recently upgraded my phone. It was only two or three years old, but I needed a new plan and so I thought I might as well get a new phone. I had the same sim card for a good many years and I had done the good work on saving all of my contacts on it. I seldom back anything up on my phone and I don't keep a lot of things on there - as you probably know by now, I'm not a keeper of things in general, technology included. If it's enough to alert people to my existence, it's just enough for me.

With the new phone, however, I couldn't use my old sim card. It was a newer, bigger card and so the old one had to be discarded - along with all of my contacts from the last, oh, ten years?

Most people that I know, at this point, would panic. Or, if they were smarter than I am, would have saved their contacts to various other places so as not to lose any information and avert any crisis.

I didn't panic. I was glad for it.

Over the decade or so, I had accumulated an awful lot of contacts in my phone, many of which I simply hadn't used. Mind you, they are all nice people, but they simply aren't part of my day to day.  I had periodically erased contacts of people I definitely didn't speak to anymore, or random ones accumulated through networking and such, but I hadn't done a thorough clean up.

I treated this as an opportunity to start afresh. Everyone was gone, more of less, and I don't have much of a memory for phone numbers anymore. I proceeded to put out a call to friends to please send me their numbers. Many did. Many didn't. And the decision was made for me.

There are two kinds of people I have encountered: the ones that keep absolutely everything and everyone and the ones that keep nothing or very little. Neither one of these is right or wrong. I know that new beginnings are terrifying. We are stepping into an unknown mostly full of now-whats. It's overwhelming to think about what you can do with all of that time and space.  But the possibilities to remake or build new are endless. You have the chance to rid yourself of constricting ideas that are tightly wound around who you are and what you have.

So much of what we surround ourselves with is remnants of who we were, whether we crave the nostalgia of those things, or whether we still believe ourselves to be those people.  We don't often realize that those things are stale, in the same way that an old souvenir bottle of hot sauce in the fridge is kitschy, but offensive at the same time.

We can all benefit from an absolute throw-out of everything. I love clean slates and I start so many new beginnings that it's almost a habit at this point. There are certainly things that we can't wipe out, no matter how much we try - but then again, those things make us who we are. 

For me the autumn seems like a good time to both wind down and start anew. No longer in school, I still feel that the year is the most ripe with possibilities at this time, and I do silly things like buy new pens and throw out my summer shoes. 

Once we admit it to ourselves, a thorough razing of some aspect of life is a good thing, if for nothing else than to get past the things that take up too much space and are difficult to negotiate with because they end up consuming us with their presence. Though I am a follower of a gentler way of cleaning up, an overhaul can do wonders. This is not an easy task and you often find yourself at odds with yourself. But it's worth asking, why is this still around?

A few of my favourite reads/listens:

The Personality Myth on Invisibilia

On Final Things on The Book of Life

The Four Tools of Discipline on Farnam Street Blog

On Being Realistic: The Wisdom of Hanging in the Balance

“To be realistic, one must always admit the influence of those who have gone before.” ”

— Charles Eames

Someone whom I knew for a short while in my life, once commented that I wasn't as optimistic as they had thought I was when they first met me. For someone who doesn't place much weight on the opinions of others about myself, this comment carved very deeply into my understanding of who I am.

I had never been anything but my true, blue self: a person I have come to understand and cultivate over time, such that on most days, I'm perfectly happy and comfortable in my own skin. I'm well aware of my proclivities, flaws, strengths and contributions. I was bothered to the point where it unhinged me and set me on a quest of trying to understand who I was. Had I got some part of myself wrong? Was I not who I thought I was? Had my circumstances turned me into someone difficult to be around?

I started asking myself irrational questions and started attributing all sorts of things to being optimistic. Perhaps if I was more optimistic I'd have more opportunities, or a book deal, or better shaped eyebrows. It was a rabbit hole I have never been down.

So, as is my default, I started to take notes and to read and to try and understand where these thoughts were coming from. What is our obsession with optimism? Why do we devalue people who prefer a rainy day to those who bask in the eternally sunny days of summer?

First, some definitions. In the world of Positive Psychology, Martin Seligman (who I have a major intellectual crush on), is a juggernaut. He is the pioneer of the field which explores the link between positivity or optimism and a variety of characteristics in life, from well-being and health, to resilience and problem-solving to relationships.

According to Seligman, optimists view negative events as temporary, not pervasive, and attributed to events outside of themselves. Whereas, pessimists view negative events as pervasive, constant and their own fault. These are known as the explanatory styles within each domain. It's how we see the world, how we think of it in relation to ourselves, and the relative power and control that we hold over the ability to change those events.

We all fall on a spectrum between these two very extreme explanatory styles and perspectives. We all know people who are eternal optimists and are unshaken by what can by consensus be seen as traumatic events. Think of Viktor Frankl, the holocaust survivor and famous psychologist who explores the area of  meaningfulness of life. We need only think of Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh to get an idea of what pessimism is (I think he's just a bit misunderstood; you might disagree).

There is something to be said about a tempered perspective. I don't like to think of the two extremes in isolation. There is certainly a propensity to go toward one or the other, but by and large, we discount the people who tend to be middle of the road. We write articles like this one, which equate realism with average, run-of-the-mill and even mediocre. We equate it with the inability to think big or creatively.

I would like to argue that being a realist is a wholesome and accumulated view, taken over time, through many events that inform our relationship with this world, with ourselves and with each other. Being a realist is about entertaining the very possibility that things could both turn out better than and worse than expected. It's not to bum anyone out or to give false hope, but to be perfectly honest that we entertain a world full of chaos.

Most of the realists I know are problem-solvers. They have many, many contingency plans. A pessimist might say they hope for the best and prepare for the worst. I like to think of it as back-pocketing an inevitability without placing it on the table.

Being a realist doesn't preclude you from dreaming big dreams and supporting those who have them. I'll admit to being the first one excited when a loved one ventures out into this wide world with a new endeavour. But it does give you the accumulated wisdom that the law of averages might preside over these dreams. That you might just make it, or that you might have to take a detour. No matter. We'll help you. We've got a map.

Well-placed hope is a card that most realists will have. Just as a scientist would be remiss if they conducted one experiment and claimed that it was applicable to everyone everyone forever, realists use reality, real life to know that overall things turn out, but they show their own idiosyncrasies along the way, and that uncertainty can have very real effects. 

Realism is a place of wisdom. I have always thought of it this way. It aligns with who I am. It comes with understanding that gratitude is necessary for the good things that we have and the lessons that we learn. It comes from the wisdom that we are no different from each other in our hopes, dreams and wishes, and that it's fully possible to support something until a time where it might be much bigger than you are in either direction. It is the wisdom to walk away when necessary and to hang on when possible.

Let's credit the realists in our lives, not as trepidatious and risk averse, but as informed and balanced. We have a map. We'll always have it whether we need it or not.

My favourite reads on the topic:

On being too much for ourselves - Brainpicker

On How to Disagree - The Book of Life

Stumbling on Happiness - Daniel Gilbert

Naming Your Price

There is an old myth that floats around in Blues music about a musician named Robert Johnson. Robert Johnson, according to sources, was a terrible musician by any account. He was an awful guitarist when the Blues were in their early days, as the craft flourished and established its voice. One day, Robert Johnson disappeared. He disappeared for quite a while and nobody knew where he had gone (this in the days where it was easy to do that).

One day sometime later, he suddenly resurfaced, guitar in hand. When he started to play, he had miraculously acquired aficionado-level skills. So the myth goes, that if you went to a crossroad at midnight and waited there, the devil would appear, take your guitar, play a few chords and hand it back to you. Suddenly, you would be able to play perfectly. The only catch: you just sold your soul.

I got to thinking about what we trade, and why we trade it to get what we want. Today I read an article about a ghostwriter for Donald Trump, who helped to write his first book, knowing that he sold out. His wife was expecting, money was worrying him and the payoff was big, even though his journalistic integrity took a lashing.

Why do we make these trades? 

Desire plays a large part. We desire the things we don't have and could have. We see other people and suffer from the Fear of Missing Out. And we want them enough to make large enough trades. We see a culture that gives up so many things in order to achieve dreams, whether it's sleep, money, family, or integrity. Desire helps us gauge whether those trades are worth it. Do we want it badly enough to take a dive in some way? Sometimes those trades are worth it. You bet large and you win large. Everything has a price if we want it badly enough. Robert Johnson traded his soul (apparently) for an enchanted ability to play the guitar. That's what it was worth. 

The psychology of what we think we deserve is the other part of it. We all have a frame of reference that maintains what it is to stay in our station in life. Every time we negotiate, we trade away something vital. Sometimes it's small enough that we can recoup the loss over time. We can find an alternative. Sometimes we negotiate down. We settle. We do this because we think we deserve less. Or perhaps less is just what's available. We learn to be okay with what we have. I would bet money on the fact that Donald Trump thinks he deserves more. He isn't the most qualified candidate (at this point, I would be more qualified), but he feels as though he deserves this presidency.

It is often our psychology that gives us the permission for what we seek out to achieve. In a sense, it is our confirmation of ourselves, our worth, and our ability that bears down on what we get, and the price that we are willing to pay. We confirm these things with ourselves daily. We didn't get the girl or the raise or the concert tickets, because frankly, we are in some way undeserving or lacking.

Wandering around a Saturday Farmer's Market is an exercise in naming your price. Everyone has a set of criteria. The rhubarb is particularly delicious this time of year, and the blueberries are just beginning to come to their peak. Sometimes our trade matches up. We are willing to give a little to get a little (nobody likes sub-par rhubarb pie). At other times, the discrepancies are larger and we find ourselves negotiating up or down. You stand there, holding an artisanal jar of strawberry jam, and you ask yourself, is this worth the seven dollars I'm going to pay for it? Sometimes it's just the perfect thing for that crusty french bread you picked up. And sometimes you think, the bread will be just as delicious with some Smuckers.

Some good reads on negotiation:

Hunger Makes Me by Jess Zimmerman

How We Came to Desire a Job We Could Love on The Book of Life

The Patience of Getting on with Things

I'm stuck on a packed train in the morning. I can smell the morning-ness on other people. The smell of freshly showered with the mingling of coffee breath. It's raining outside (as usual), so we can't crack the windows open without having the rain pelt our heads from a usually fast moving train.

The irritation and impatience is palpable. Eyes are rolling. Deep exasperated coffee-laced sighs appear to be fogging up the already foggy windows. Nobody is pleased.

The woman who is sitting on directly next to me looks like she's about to leap out the window from frustration. "I can't believe this is happening again!" she says a little bit louder than necessary. "This is very irritating." Her irritability is coming off of her in great big plumes and penetrating the strained quiet that we are bent on maintaining. I can't stay quiet much longer.

"Well, what are you going to do?" I say.

"I can't do anything about it! I'm not happy about this!" she replies. She's getting visibly more purple.

"That's exactly it. You can't control this situation, so you have to wait it out. Like the rest of us. We're all going to be late to work or school and we can't do anything about it. So there's no need to get mad about it." I respond.

I've said my piece now.

The thing is, minor and major inconveniences are part and parcel of our daily lives these days. From email that loads far too slow, to missed buses, to missed deadlines. And my favourite: people not doing what I asked them when I asked them.

Any combination of these can lead us into emotional states that range anywhere from minor irritation to out and out rage.

Lately, I've been sensing the constant current of irritation that comes from encountering minor inconveniences daily. I've had to pull away from others because of foul moods. And I've taken to supplementing my diet with far too much comfort food as a result.

But because I believe that everything comes with consequences and trade-offs, my very human, albeit miserable behaviour has been to nobody's benefit, least of all, mine. In a bid to "fix" something that I know I can fix, I've had to remind myself that patience is the well from which creation, curiosity, and contentment spring. I've had to remind myself of these things:

Nothing happens without patience: We fail in life. All the time. And if we're lucky, we fail a lot. Patience is linked with knowing that the good things take time to happen. Of course, there are things like perseverance, grit, courage, all linked with the good things. But without patience, we're apt to throw our hands up.

Patience requires gratitude: Being trapped on a crowded train is to nobody's taste. It helped to remind myself that I had a job to go to, that I didn't have to walk to, and an understanding team that was familiar with the idiosyncrasies of the public transit system

Patience comes with acknowledging the fine line between what you can and can't control: We can't control everything that happens to us. We often can control whether we choose to see things one way or another. This isn't a bid for positivity (I wouldn't preach that!). It is however, worth understanding that our reactions may need to be in proportion with the situation.

Patience requires regular practice: Lord help me sometimes it's just easier to imagine smacking someone upside the head from the absolutely asinine thing that they just uttered. We all have those moments. Reminders to cultivate patience are crucial in those moments where resolve is being tested and nerves are being frayed. These are teachable moments.

We have very human tendencies to get quite grumpy when things don't go our way. It's the seedy underbelly of being a creature with forethought and introspection. But what is our weakness is also our strength. We are given the incredible power to understand our own actions and the fact that we are complicit in the outcomes that they produce. I'm making a promise with myself to have more patience in my life. Time is short; I'd rather spend it in a state of awareness rather than in a fog of my own undoing.

PS: If you want to read some good things about patience, here are some of my favourites:

Kafka on Love and Patience (Brainpickings)

Four Steps to Developing Patience (Psychology Today)

On Irritability (The Book of Life)

On Leaving Things Behind

When I was young, my family moved a lot. By the time I was 10, we had moved more than a dozen times. These journeys weren't all terribly well-planned. Sometimes we'd have a very short time to get our things together and go. I learned very quickly not to get attached to things that I wouldn't be able to take with me if the time came (and it almost inevitably did). I have one distinct memory of moving from my maternal grandmother's home. I tried as best as I could to stuff all 50 of my very thin fairy tale books into a suitcase, working my way around the nooks and crannies, wrapping clothes around them. I remember thinking that I probably wouldn't be able to do that next time around.

My frugality with things has continued throughout my life. I have always been reluctant to buy things that I didn't absolutely require. I still don't have a dining table or a blender. My bibliophilia has continued on unabated, such that when I moved into my current home, my books made up half of the boxes that were moved into the house. Though my home is filled with the things that I love, and it feels very much like a home, I always think twice about adding to the lot.

When we travel, we often make lists of things that we ought to be taking with us, to prepare for different scenarios on the trip. My own sister usually puts together entire outfits in case we have a nice dinner, or a beach day, or a trip to a museum. Lists can be extensive from various hair implements to the appropriate footwear (carry the one).

For most of my adult life, I have tried to travel as lightly as I can. It helps that most of my clothes are fashionably neutral and I don't wear much in the way of makeup, so the complexity is somewhat reduced. Still, I find myself asking the question, what can I leave behind? rather than what can I take with me?

There is a good lesson in how we conduct our lives here. In the days where minimalism happens to be in vogue, and everyone is engaged in the life-changing magic of tidying, it does us good to have an inventory of the habits, the people, the thoughts that we can leave behind. After all, just like the acid-wash jeans that served us when we were younger, some things just no longer do; after a while, they might even start to look a bit ridiculous.

We are deeply attached "what ifs" and "just in cases", all to prepare us for some inevitable future of our own mind's making.

I've found that there is an art to leaving things behind, that only comes over time, and out of habit. Though difficult to oblige, we realize that the unnecessary and seldom useful take up valuable space in our psyches. Like old clothes, or an extra pair of shoes, they hang around, claiming a territory that might well hold something more useful. Once we recognize that these eventualities may not exist, and that we are perfectly capable of making do if necessary, that space then becomes occupied by something more luxurious and more potent: potential.