More

As a kid, I had the great desire for amassing things. If there was something I really liked, I had to have more. If there was a certain kind of book I liked, I had to have everything in the series. Hence, my fairytale phase, my Sweet Valley Kids phase, my Nancy Drew phase…and the list goes on.

Then, when I was about ten or so, my parents got me these souvenir shot glasses from Chicago and Texas. And before I knew it, I was on a shot glass phase buying from every town, city and state we went to. My sisters used to tease me and make clinking noises to scare me about breaking my precious glasses. My entire family got in on my obsession and I would have aunts and cousins buying glasses for me on their trips. Then, there was also my stamp collection. I had seen documentary stamps lying around, I’m sure I would have added them to my collection too.

And it wasn’t just amassing things. If I got into something, I would go through it until… well, I stopped. So I could spend hours watching a tennis game, reading through a well-loved author and just watching TV I was a couch potato from the time I was ten until the time I turned 16. Why 16? It was then that I had to live in the dorm and there was no cable TV around. Again, my sisters would kid me about having withdrawal symptoms from being away from the TV.

And yet, I survived. I survived four years without cable TV I survived four years without my favorite shows and four years sleeping in a room with other people. Four years, being away from every comfort zone I had known. And I loved every moment of it. And from then on, I learned something about myself. There are actually a lot of things I have learned to live without.

When I first started working, I had the luxury of being able to go home for lunch. I would take my hot home-cooked meal and then have some light conversation with the family before I took my siesta. And now that work is almost an hour a way, I’ve learned to live without it. I guess, I’ve learned to adapt. To sacrifice some things for something better.
And the startling conclusion I have come to after all these years is this: The more I have, the more I want. The more I want, the harder it is to satisfy my wants. But, on the other hand, the less I have, the more things I can live without. The more I can live without, the happier I am. It is a relief to know that I can live without watching my favorite show or having to get the latest novel or the most fashionable outfit. That I don’t have to have one more book and one more stamp. That I can look at my shot glasses and appreciate the thought that came with the giving and not how many more I’m lacking. That I can let go of some of my favorite books. That I can survive without my home-cooked lunch. That I am not dictated by what I should and should not have. That I measure my growth not by how much I have acquired but by how much I am willing to give up. That I can spend my time thinking not on what I want but on who I am called to be.