The Most Important Thing

I've been thinking lately about relative importance; about what we assign value to in our lives and why. Take me, as an example. I have a room full of books, jewelry, posters, warm blankets, photographs of friends and dvds ... my things. Being in my room makes me feel safe and happy - each thing I own has its own story of conception, its own meaning attached to it, to create a room full of good memories and important icons. But even more importantly, I think, I surround myself with things that are special to me because they help me to define who I am. My taste in books and music, the color I choose to paint my walls (pale, pale pink), the pictures I chose to display, help me to place myself and centre my identity. In that sense, I suppose, I am what I own.

But in reality, I think I could live without most of my things. The photographs could fall apart but I would still have the memories of when they were taken. The books have been read. The movies could be rented. I don't need rings and earrings and make up and stuffed animals to survive. And really, I would still exist, my personality would remain intact, without creating something tangible out of it. Sometimes I get scared that I'm going to disappear, and I convince myself that my things ground me ... keep me actual. As though someone could walk into my room and acertain that someone does, in fact, live and breathe and love and feel and exist here.

What am I getting at, exactly? Firstly, that I've become, or maybe have always been, dependant on what I own. Materialistic, to a certain extent, although not in the label-whore, big screen TV kind of way. I haven't had much money this month, so I haven't really been buying anything - no mascara, no new movies, no spring clothes, no books to read or picture frames or boxes to store things in. It's been refreshing, not to feel the need to own anything else. Or, well - not to give in to the urge to own anything else. I've realized that I could cut my wardrobe into 1/4 and still survive. All that is really important to me in my life, REALLY important, could fit into a small box.
My computer. My high school grad ring. My framed picture of me and Steve. My glasses. The necklace my dad gave me when I gave my valedictorian speech. My diaries. My stuffed monkey. Everything else is sort of extra.

When I raise kids, I can hopefully raise them to value experiences more than they value belongings. I don't want them to have 15 rooms full of toys, or closets full of clothes that they grow out of before they wear. I hope that I can learn, so that I can teach them, to give to others, and to define your personality by how you treat other people, rather than what you own. It's something that I've been working on, and slowly but surely am getting better at.

Sorry about the rambling - lot on my mind
(and for those of you left wondering, I *did* get in to Teacher's College at U of T, so you can all give up your hopes of me becoming a travelling drama hobo)