Episode 27 - Stuff

Four months ago I arrived in Papua New Guinea with just my rucksack on my back. Since then I have living here with just what I could fit in my bag and a bunch of household items (such as plates and bedding) lent to me from CRMF. I have had everything that I needed. In fact, for the most part, I barely even noticed that most of my belongings were bobbing up and down somewhere in the middle of some ocean, rather than nestling in my house. That’s not to say that there weren’t times when I wanted to use something, only to remember that I didn’t have it, or that there weren’t times when I had to beg and borrow things rather than use my own. But over all, there is one startling realisation to be made; I don’t actually need all of my stuff. I can actually survive without it. In fact, I can even live a happy and fulfilled life without it!

Stuff

And then after four months of roaming the seas my stuff arrived, something which I’m not going to pretend to be sad about, although the sight of my small house literally filled up with boxes was slightly overwhelming. Over time my boxes started to be unpacked and my house looked increasingly like a container lorry had crashed into it. Basic tasks such as cooking and using the bathroom became more like challenges from the crystal maze. But as my belongings began to reveal themselves something surprising began to occur. Despite the fact that I had been perfectly happy in my house, and despite the fact this relative chaos which now surrounded me had swallowed up the peace and tranquillity of my formally tidy house (anyone who has even been to a house in which I have resided will know that I’m speaking in hyperbole), as one by one my things were released from their prisons, my house started to feel more like home.

I probably should have tidied before taking these pictures...

I had never once thought that my house didn’t feel like home. Nor did I ever feel uncomfortable or out of place. And yet somehow, I now began to feel more at home, cocooned by my own things. There’s something strange about being around your own belongings, using your own things, being surrounded by the stories and memories, they don’t make you miss what is gone, but bring you more into the present, reminding you who you are, standing on all that you have been. Of course, it’s also brilliant being able to use my things and to be able to do stuff I couldn’t do before, after all, everything I brought does have a purpose, otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered to ship it 10000 miles around the world!

Yeah, that's right, I have bunting...

It turns out I don’t need all of my stuff. I don’t even need to do all of the things my stuff enables me to do. But this doesn’t make my stuff bad. It enables me to do things I couldn’t otherwise, and it can help me to be more myself. My stuff is a huge blessing. But, having been without it for four months also makes me see that it can be a huge distraction, or even an obsession if I let it. My stuff is a huge blessing, but it is always my job to ensure I don’t turn it into a curse.