I heard someone (speaking from the minimalist point of view) say that all our possessions are chattering at us all the time. I’d agree with this. I certainly feel much more at peace and ready to create in a clean, orderly space. If your possessions could talk, would they make you give them away?

I *love* books. One of my dreams is to have a home big enough to put all our books out in a central location and have a proper library. My books don’t say, “you’re stupid, why don’t you read me”, my books say, “Look at all this lovely knowledge! Right at your fingertips… and remember the good times we had together, when you wandered through my pages?” 

That doesn’t mean I don’t have to have purges. I do. If one is in the habit of buying anything whatsoever, sometimes one finds oneself with bits that aren’t particularly useful or who have outlived their prime. I have, for instance, moved to keeping my “fun reading” almost entirely in electronic form. (Contrariwise, if I really like a book and want to reference it, I want it in paper).

Now, if I could get rid of things whose chatter I find unpleasant, it would be loose bits of paper. Of course, as a writer, loose bits of paper are an occupational hazard. Also, I’m the organizer, bill-payer, file-clerk, etc., so the bits of paper are necessary. If those possessions could talk, they’d be reminding me of things I should do (and have little interest in). (And now I’m listening to them, and they’re begging me for a good solid purge of the file-cabinets. Do I want to spend a day doing that? I do not. Will I -soon-, now that I can hear their whining? I suppose I shall have to). 

I’m also a producer-of-things. A creative. I sew. I dabble in drawing and watercolor. I can and ferment and… all of those activities require stuff. What do those items say? Well, every bit of fabric was bought with a purpose, so every bit of it says, “just spend some time with me and I can be a …” – that’s a bit guilt-inducing. I have substantially more “clothing” in my fabric stash than I have in my closet. So all my creative things say, “come play with me!” They can get a bit pouty, really. But clean up my space and clear out my time and that guilt is replaced by excitement and wonder. (And clothes, and sauerkraut, and books, and jam, and …. )

I’m learning about edible wild plants. So I go on a walk and hear, “you could make me into a lovely salad” from what I was previously used to think of as a rather nasty weed. This delight in potential is what makes me a creative person. Everything I see has the potential to become something else, something useful or beautiful or both. I exist in a world of wonder. Would I change that, to have a “quieter” existence? No.

Everything does have a voice, if you will only listen. But not everything has something to say that you want to hear. 

I guess that’s what it means to choose a life of involvement in the world around us, to choose to open our eyes (and our metaphorical ears) instead of insulating ourselves. We have to deal with the cacophony and take responsibility for it.

If our possessions could talk (and it seems that they can) maybe we should make better choices – more thoughtful choices – about what should stay, what should go, and what should be put to use. I’m not about to become a minimalist, but there’s a good lesson to be learned, and improvements to be made.