For Love of Inanimate Objects
When Marie Kondo spent her 15 minutes of conquering fame asking people if their stuff sparked joy, I related. When she instructed her clients to toss the things that didn’t spark joy out with a sincere, “Thank you” on its way to the landfill, I was sold.
I’m a curator of stuff. A collector of evidence. I struggle to throw anything out because so many things are artifacts that map out my life’s journey. Each relic has a story about a moment that informs the person. In the most egotistical way possible, I’m preserving my legacy. Shaping it, really. Creating my own Presidential Library for a guy who will likely never be president. (Likely… This mid-life crisis I’m in has endless possibilities.)
Notes. Birthday cards. Photos. Artwork. Magazine clippings. Toys. Matchbooks. I’m not hoarding, because I do pare things down, but it’s no easy task. Killing the darlings rarely is. But I’m quick to admit that I do personify these inanimate objects a bit much. And I caught myself doing it today as I was unloading the dishwasher.
Returning the clean bowls, plates, and cups to their cupboards, I was sure to place the freshly cleaned items on the bottom of the stack or at the back of the cupboard so that the next use of a bowl, plate, or cup was one that had been waiting patiently to service me. Like a youth soccer coach making sure each kid gets rotated in and out of the game so everyone gets equal playing time. To my emotionally twisted brain and too-sensitive heart, each bowl, plate, and cup wants nothing more than to do the very thing it was created for. And I refuse to have favorites. Although, I do, actually have a favorite plate. It’s a small plastic, not-quite-microwave-safe Masters of the Universe plate I’ve had since I was five years old. That one is always at the top of the stack. But that’s also because it fits best in the cupboard that way.
My issue is that I’m too misguidedly empathetic. It breaks my heart to think that the bowls at the bottom could think that I prefer the bowls at the top. Which, I admit, is looney. Cereal bowls don’t think. They merely hold my Crunch Berries so I can overload on high fructose corn syrup and carbs late at night. Much to my doctor’s, my gut’s, and my early morning run’s chagrin.
But I think my thoughtful kindness bestowed upon my dishware is a clue to human behavior. If we all gave a little more attention to the feelings of others, if we all considered what others have experienced and what they’re going through, if we all treated each other the way they want to be treated, we just might find ourselves living in the kind of world most of us want. One that is rich with joyful experiences and empathetic love.
And, obviously, clean dishes.
