Do we possess possessions or do they possess us? We treat each purchase like a new achievement, but once the high wears off, the new item starts to feel like a weight.

To maintain each object, it requires a place in our living space, cleaning, and a piece of your mind.

Take a look at your keys. Hear them jangle in your hand. Each key represents a door that must be locked, a room that must be secured, and a space that must be defended. We don’t really think about it in that way.

Maybe it’s not even physical objects. There’s also digital clutter. The subscriptions that take money out of your account automatically. Yes, that’s even if you don’t use them. We think we are using a service, but this service is robbing our focus.

Take a look at your shelves. See how much dust has been collected. Dust is the evidence of time passing over things that don’t matter. Every book and collectible takes up space, requiring us to find a place for it, and occupies our minds with the memory of finding it.

We focus so much on what an object does for us that we tend not to pay attention to how much is required of us.

When the Amazon package comes to our house, we think, “Oh great, the thing that’s in this box is going to make my life easier.” The reality is that we signed a contract to be the caretaker of a piece of plastic.

True freedom is an empty space. We tend to fill this empty space with furniture in the name of improvement. The truth is that these decorations only occupy the space where freedom is offered.

The truth is that we own nothing. Everything we “have” is rented. This is freedom because it removes the burden of ownership, as talked about above.

Everything will come into your possession, and then it will leave. The mistake is believing that you are what you have.

Keeping Up with the Upkeep

Everything you “own” will need maintenance. No one actually tells you that maintenance is a subtle form of worship.

We don’t own the car, but we serve its appetite for oil, tires, and friction reduction.

We don’t own the house, but we are the unpaid labor that keeps the shingles from flying away or the pipes from bursting.

The object is a demanding idol that requires our time and attention to maintain its current form.

The title of “owner” is merely given to the person who works the hardest for the object.

The owner isn’t using their Saturday to rest. They are working because the lawn demands a haircut and the gutters demand cleaning. Every asset we have is a small child with a mouth to feed.

So we work frantically with the goal of preservation. We act as though these objects are permanent, so we exhaust ourselves trying to stop the natural flow of decay.

It’s always a losing battle.

To claim an object is to give birth to a new fear. Buying an expensive watch also means fearing its theft. Owning a house means wondering whether you locked the door every time you leave. For a moment, our peace is held hostage.

Someone keying your car is the equivalent of a scar on your body. If an object is lost, the owner won’t stop until it’s found. The fear of loss means we must protect it.

The security we place around our objects tends to become our jail cell. We buy more to feel secure, but the security is the trap.

We build fences to keep the world away from our things, not realizing that we are also fencing ourselves in. Instantly, we become the prisoners of our own valuables.

The mind tells us that safety comes in having. The truth is, safety is only found in the realization that nothing can truly be kept. Your body and your toys are all drifting towards the same end.

The problem with hoarding stems from the mistaken belief that these objects will keep us alive.

The Utility Belt of Objects

Walk into a room and note how you take inventory of all your things. Your home is not a living space. It’s a warehouse. Each “my” is an addition to our product inventory.

We say we need these things because we use them as tools. What if it were the other way around?

When you are out enjoying life, are you actually enjoying it, or are you looking for the right time to snap a photo?

Why did you buy the sports car when it demands a specific type of road and a specific type of fuel from you?

Do you sleep in on Saturday, or does mowing the lawn set your alarm?

The definition of a tool is using it when it’s needed. A hammer is only in the hand when a nail is present. When the hammer is not needed, we forget it. Instead, we carry the hammer around, looking for things to hit to justify its ownership.

Look at your smartphone. It vibrates with notificaiton and the first thing we do is check it. We call it connectivity when really it’s just constant interuptions from what we are doing, or not doing right now. Yet, we keep our phones with us at all times because we are addicted to the data we receive from them.

In the end, we know that nothing is wrong. The phone still vibrates, the car needs fuel, and the room is full. The mistake is identifying with these things rather than the space that allows the furniture.

The Identification with Action

The things we own will still need maintenance. To use these things as tools, we must not identify with the act of using them. Because we use a lawnmower to cut the grass doesn’t mean the lawnmower is connected to our well-being. We use the tool, the job is done, and then we go on to the next thing.

Possession is sticky because we expect objects to give us a permanent identity. When the car is washed, we feel clean. When the phone screen shatters, we, too, are in pieces. This is the error.

The burden isn’t in the object; it’s the identification.

This means you can totally get rid of the things that no longer serve you. The idea of a storage unit doesn’t make too much sense. It’s just a dark room with old electronics, clothes that no longer fit, and furniture no one is utilizing. We pay monthly fees to keep things that are decaying.

The error is that I must protect this because it’s mine. The only things we need are the things we utilize. I have a jacket because I get cold. The roof is leaking. It needs a patch.

We are not the owners, but the guests who appreciate the hotel’s fine linen without the need to stuff it in a suitcase. The guest fully enjoys the room and can easily leave it empty-handed.

The Mindset of the Guest

You might have thought that holding a garage sale would be the answer to this article. Minimalism is only another badge of pride. Again, the trap isn’t the stuff. The trap is identification with the stuff.

Instead of getting rid of your things, get rid of what claims them.

The leap is recognizing that you use objects without owning them. In the same way, you can’t lose something you don’t have. We, instead, shift our mindset to that of a guest.

A guest doesn’t apologize for sitting in the hotel armchair, nor do they cry when the bellhop takes their luggage to the car. We only use what is here.

If there is a bed, we sleep. If there is a feast, we eat. Even if the feast is replaced with a piece of bread, we gladly eat that bread.

Losing the identity of “the owner” removes the burdens we have with all objects. Even the ones that still occupy space.

Objects will always have a beginning, middle, and end. The tool is in our possession; we use it for its intended purpose, and at some point, it will break, be stolen, or be given away.

None of these stages should affect us in the slightest way.

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