Last Friday afternoon, packed for a quick trip to Indiana with Mom and Dad, I came sheepishly downstairs, lugging a small blue duffel filled with clothes and a bulkier pink backpack filled with necessities. Necessities consisting of three books, my laptop, a spiral bound notebook, three audio books, a small CD player, a magazine, and a few other odds and ends such as pens and computer cords.
Enough entertainment value, in other words, to last several weeks instead of two days. But when I saw Dad’s box of fat audio books–ten or fifteen of them–stacked by the door, I lost my guilt quickly. “So that’s where I get it!” For people like him and me, the thought of even a moment without a book or some other mind-occupying medium can cause a feeling of emptiness and panic.
On the way out, we stopped at Wal-Mart, Mom and I for a few items we needed, Dad to buy snacks. When Mom and I met at the register fifteen minutes later, there was no Dad in sight. “Uh oh,” I said. “I’d better go remind him there’s only three of us.”
When I found him and told him what I’d come to say, we both laughed. His cart was already heaped: a big bag of oranges, grapes, cookies, candy, twelve or sixteen yogurts. Dad is used to buying for a family of ten instead of three.
In Indiana, my Grandma and two single aunts were preparing to move from their big country house to a small house in town and getting rid of things they no longer needed. So we inherited baskets. Grandpa’s old sermon notes. Benches. A Christmas village. Vintage suitcases. A rocker. A bookshelf. My Aunt Faith’s old china hutch, in need of restoration. Dad had taken the back seats from the van for the very purpose of bringing stuff home, but I’m still amazed at all we managed to fit inside. It was like putting together a giant 3-D puzzle.
I had to crawl in through the front doors to my one little haven of bucket seat in the back, every other space packed floor to ceiling with our treasures.
Driving through Chicago, Mom and I had to check Dad’s blind spot every time he wanted to change lanes, since he had no way of seeing out those side windows.
My family has always gone through life with more than enough stuff.
At times this has been frustrating, other times fun and amusing…but I’ve been thinking lately that I carry that same habit of too much stuff into my work and spiritual life. My mind is constantly cluttered with projects, things I want to learn, places I want to go, work I have to get done. Such a life can be fun and exciting, but sometimes it’s like lugging a heavy backpack around that outweighs happiness.
Here are a tips, things I’ve resolved to do to help me travel lighter. Maybe, if you’re like me and often overwhelmed, they’ll help you too.
1. Take Sundays off. I mean really off. Does anyone else have a habit of squeezing in extra projects on Sunday? I do. Not big, obvious mowing-the-lawn projects that the neighbors might see–but projects that cram my mind and my Sundays nevertheless. Put your foot down. Eliminate those Sunday projects and take a complete day of rest, as God intended. I guess he must have thought we needed one.
2. Take time, at least a little bit of time each day, to do something just because you want to. Some days are like that, and there is value, during a busy cram-awful day, in finding a few moments to do whatever you jolly well want guilt free. Whether it’s napping or reading or staring into space, it will free your mind for the next step.
3. Stay scheduled, but flexible. Plan a time to do something, do it, and then move on. If you haven’t finished in time, don’t stress. You can always come back the next day.
4. Say no to over commitment.
5. Say yes to what makes you feel good about yourself and what you can handle. My sister Elizabeth told me a quote recently: “If you are always last, you won’t always last.”