a beginning in the end

Well. To explain my absence, I've been writing elsewhere. I know, it's kind of like cheating on myself, but that seems to be my habit: writing thoughts here and there willy-nilly, not doing a good job of keeping track of them-- where they are and what I've said. As long as I get to write it somewhere. It's always more useful when I can return and read through a growing phase, though. But lately my thoughts and need to write has been too personal to put on the internet. And not entirely related to the PE.

But it's mid August now, and my last year of graduate school will be starting pretty soon. My last year as a graduate student, my last year (hopefully) working at the seminary, my first year in this place without either the cohort I began my studies with or the fast friends I have made among them. It's going to be strange and different. It's going to be chaotically wonderful. A little bittersweet, a lot of conclusion. And in that conclusion, a great deal of new beginnings.

This is true on an academic level as I plod through writing my thesis with a full time job and part time classwork. I want my thesis to be relevant to how I live my life: practical theology-- and also personal, dealing with something I've been thinking and working on for a good long time. I don't want to end up grasping for words at the last minute, writing until the deadline, saying anything, repeating what I've already said, in an attempt to just get it done. I want to finish and be proud of what I've put together, have thought and considered all of the words I have connected and feel like I'm in a physically different place than when I began. I already feel as if the scenery's changed.

So you may recall that my thesis is going to be written on simplicity. Although I intend to do some research on simplicity movements throughout Christian history (including monasteries and cloisters up through new monasticism), this idea was ultimately borne from my own desire to live in a way that is radically different to the life I had been living. I came to seminary to learn how to live as a Christian. And while I am educated to the point that I understand there is no one way to live as a Christian, I have been able to isolate a few paths that help me to feel closer to God. I feel that practical theology is the only theology for me. In completing my thesis on a topic that is so personal and also so practically lived-- I feel a sense of completion and accomplishment in my goals for beginning my studies. I want to live more simply. I never knew how much I had, how complicated I make things-- or that simple was so attainable, than I do at this point.

I am a product of American consumerism, and more than that, the adult Amelia is the product of an impoverished childhood. Money was the number one issue in my family-- the source of the most fights, the restraint of the most living, and for me, the source of the most guilt. Yet, despite my hard work to support myself through college, a grant-year in Indonesia, and the past three years of graduate school, despite my need to use credit to pay for necessities like doctor's visits and groceries, I have also managed to live a life that is materialistically wasteful. I don't know where the balance is between watching every penny and not knowing where I spent that $50-- or when I shifted from avoiding certain social situations because I knew they would be costly-- to becoming the initiator, in some social situations, for unnecessary expenditures. But I have come to realize in the past four months or so, the error of my excess.

Back in May, I understood that somehow my wasteful habits had grown out of control. I mean primarily: spending habits (although there are others). I embarked on a month of no new things: I spent the entirety of the month of May shunning any new purchases besides food-- no new clothes or shoes, no weird kitchen appliances, no jewelry or fabric or art supplies. I didn't even allow myself to spend money on the garden until the last weekend of the month when I decided that a tomato plant would ultimately bear fruit which I would eat. That probably doesn't sound like much of a challenge, but then, that is an explanation for how bad things had gotten. May was initially a challenge, but by the end of the month, I was glad to use the excuse not to wander around suburban Maryland and I honestly didn't miss the things I might have otherwise bought. I even began exploring thrift and opportunity shops, which I have come to appreciate way more than the nearby Target-- after all, I said no new things.

But after May had passed, I realized that I had merely transferred my desire to be wasteful to more economically responsible ways of wasting. Instead of brand new anything from a chain store, I had been purchasing unnecessary second hand treasures. I ended up with a pile of stuff I couldn't even properly sort-- a pile which grew to behemoth proportions.

June passed and I contemplated on my ability not to purchase new things retail and my newfound love for the thrift while I let myself be wildly distracted by other worthy personal endeavors. But by July I knew that I was no better off than when I had begun. I knew I needed to adopt no new anything as a shopping habit-- and I knew I needed to cull.

That's right.

Cull.

I had so much STUFF that I couldn't keep track of, organize, or use everything I had collected. I have been in DC three years and I am both embarassed and ashamed to say that I moved to this city with just what would fit in my little toyota matrix-- but at the beginning of July, I had an entire apartment worth of everything-- furniture, linens, art supplies, waaay more clothes and shoes than I could ever wear, kitchen gadgets-- you name it and I had it-- stuffed into my bedroom and the communal spaces of a shared house. I had. Way. too. much of it.

So with some good help, I spent a week going through the things that I owned. I started with my clothes, shoes and jewelry, moved to miscellany in the bedroom/office and home goods. I cut out more than 1/3 of my wardrobe in its entirety-- and two weeks after the cut, I don't miss a thing I let go. I haven't worn the same thing twice, and there's still plenty left to wear in the closets and in the drawers. I filled four ikea bags--heaping bags-- and that's just what my four helpers did not take home with them.

Most of the cull was done at this point. This was working through the clothes.

The end result is a bedroom that I can maintain. Clothes that get worn, sorted in the hamper, and washed on a weekly basis- and then easily folded and put away. No monthly 8-12 load laundry marathon. No rewashed loads, no wrinkled clothes. No busted dresser drawers. Two small loads and homemade washing detergent. Shoes get put away, earrings get rehung, keys are always where I think they'll be. And while I haven't taken any trips in the past two weeks, I highly suspect packing for a weekend trip would be a breeze. I'm not done, of course. There is still one box I didn't make it through during the cull, as well as the jubilee of all my treasures to new homes-- hopefully friends who will love them well. And I've already determined a follow-up culling is called for (say that ten times fast). If I can so easily live without all that I've already gotten rid of, surely I can live without even more.

I think one of the areas where I've gained perspective is to be able to do these things as a sort of spiritual discipline. I came to seminary to learn how to do life according to the commitment of my life to Christ, and somehow I missed a major message. This is me, getting back to that message. This is me, exercising what I have learned in seminary. This is me, growing, evolving into something better than I am, and valuing what I'm meant to value according to God and not according to capitalism. At least, as I am understanding it to be.

Of course, I'm not holier than thou. I still OWN more than many people I know (hence, the follow-up cull). I still possess more than I need. I will likely take more out and give more away and get rid of more, but I think the balance is hard to find. I'll never be a minimalist. I'll always struggle with what is just enough and what is too much. But I'm happy to report I'm wrestling with the issue in an honest way. And if you've got a lot of stuff, too, I'm not judging you for it-- just talking about how I'm fighting my way out from it.

So academically and practically, I'm building new habits and working on change as I start my engine in my last lap of the seminary journey. Relationally, I've also met someone amazing and I'm enjoying every moment of my beginning with him as well. I'm so grateful that there is birth in the conclusion, something new to move onto as this period of discernment and discovery naturally wraps up. Although I don't know a lot of big things about what happens next, there's a lot of hope and hopefully good new habits to fortify me as I find the way. Amen to that.

me and someone new