The pile of the future might contain a worn-out Bozo doll,
Handwritten notes,
Vintage Fisher-Price Little People buildings and cars and people,
handprint paintings from years ago,
And a quilt made by a family member.
This pile of the future will be made by my sons when I leave this earth.
The Bozo doll will end up in the trash, I am sure. He is worn and torn and only precious to me.
The quilt might end up being donated or given to someone who wants a warm blanket, but the owner will never know my grandmother’s hands who made it.
Each of us accumulates during the dash found on a tombstone, the dash between birth and death.
We accumulate lots of little trinkets that have special significance for us.
We accumulate clothing, shoes, kitchen appliances, toiletries, furniture, decor, tools, paperwork, technological devices, photos, and family heirlooms.
We accumulate junk we are too lazy or too sentimental or too feeble to throw out.
Some of us do a lot more accumulating than others.
And when our dash is over, someone will have to go through the old photos with perhaps one familiar face among strangers.
When our dash is over, our childhood bear and the ticket from our first concert and the favorite scruffy pair of slippers will not mean much.
When our dash is over, all the accumulation will end up in a Goodwill pile, a trash bin, or in a box our heirs plan to go through when it is not so hard to look at.
When our dash is over, what appears to be the detritus of an entire life seems trivial in comparison to the life lived.
The Goodwill pile cannot possibly hold the person—
The laughs,
The smiles,
The funny turns of phrase,
That Goodwill pile cannot also hold the dash—the life lived,
The passion,
The hopes and dreams,
The kind encouragement,
The moments when they changed someone's life.
None of these are present in that pile of accumulated material items.
Decluttering a house is hard enough.
Decluttering our minds is harder yet.
It is a process that must be undertaken continuously throughout our lives.
When we look at a soul—at a life—whether that person is alive or dead–
When we think of the people whose lives intersect with ours,
it is so easy to get cluttered with all of the trivial things.
There is no Goodwill pile or trash bin for our memories or our recollections.
It is so easy for our mind to focus on
the times that person failed us,
the times that person made a snide comment that hurt,
the moments when that person was not there when we needed them,
the false promises,
the unsaid words,
the mess,
the less-than-perfect qualities that irritate us.
When we look at a soul—at a life—it is so easy to get cluttered and bogged down with actions that displease us:
the time he made a huge life decision that did not include me,
the time that boss failed to appreciate all my hard work,
the time my child made a decision that broke my heart,
the time that friend betrayed me and spread lies,
the time a spouse kept secrets that eventually came out,
the road rage, the lies,
the leaving-the-dirty-dishes-in-the-sink,
the never-taking-the-garbage-out,
the closed ears and closed eyes,
and more.
The older I get, the more I think that life–that living-–is more than just the years we live and the things we do.
The dash between birth and death is more than just dates and accomplishments and actions.
Perhaps the real challenge in life and in relationships is to see the dash as a subtraction sign.
Not as a punctuation mark to show from this point to another point.
Instead, the dash on a tombstone asks us to subtract, declutter, get down to the nitty gritty.
What is a human life?
When we think of any one of us, the truth is
This human was flawed,
This human lied, showed rage, ignored those she shouldn't have, paid attention to things he shouldn't have,
This human betrayed, left dirty dishes in the sink, made false promises, failed to say the right things,
This human had addictions, failed others, and was not always there for others.
But this human life was also larger than all the flaws.
The dash may ask us to consider who the person was if we subtract all the clutter.
If we remove all the things that were not the true essence of the person,
If we remove all the extra adjectives and all the lists of negatives,
If we remove the high points and the lowest points of a life,
If we remove their greatest achievements and their worst, most embarrassing actions,
If we remove all the exceptions and all the less-than-perfect moments,
If we remove the mistakes and the self-absorption,
What is left if all that is removed and decluttered?
If the dash represents our lives' work, what is left when the clutter is removed?
Did the person love?
Did the person make this world a better place for others?
Did the person make others smile?
Did the person bring joy?
Did the person help others?
Did the person make others feel more loved and more accepted?
The challenge of the dash asks us to subtract the rest.
The rest belongs in the Goodwill pile.
The clutter of the person's flaws belongs in the trash bin.
The dash asks us to focus on the person's core.
The dash is more than an expanse of days and years.
The dash is our challenge as humans to love others---the whole person, not just the clutter that can get in the way.
My plan right now is to go to the nearest hardware store and buy the biggest trash can I can find.
My plan is to throw away all the junk---all the clutter---all the judgments–
--and just live my life as fully and openly as I can.
With my arms spread out for all.
And all I can do is hope that when my dash is permanent,
someone else will subtract all my flaws, all my imperfections, all my addictions, all my failures, the moments I did not see or hear others,
the moments I am ashamed of and the moments I revealed my weaker side.
All I can do is hope that instead they can subtract all that
and see instead the core of Kim George—
her true heart, her true spirit, and her true soul—
without all the clutter.
