Morally Neutral Things
I have a specific goal at the moment: create an environment of low-friction creativity.
I’ve been buried under years of emotional baggage attached to physical items in almost every aspect of my life. Carrie recently suggested I read a book that pointed to a seemingly-obvious fact—objects are morally neutral.
The book I’m referencing is: “How to Keep House While Drowning.” By KC Davis
I don’t owe anything to any item I own.
They’re things. They don’t have emotions.
Their emotions are projected onto them by me. Nothing else.
Nostalgia is a beautiful emotional state of wonder and excitement for the past: that is until it attaches itself to something that affects my current life in a negative way. An item's past enjoyment and appreciation are not irrelevant when the item becomes obsolete.
Guilt and shame have a habit of showing up in connection to items that were mismanaged, not sold (when they “should have been”), or are now worthless. Things don’t carry morality. The morality of things is created in our psyche.
For example, If I gave away the 1865 saw my grandfather handed down to my dad (and then to me), the receiver might throw it away: as they should if it doesn’t make their life better. It’s an old saw that doesn’t work as well as a lot of new ones. For me (thanks to the encouragement of a friend), I’ve realized that if tools had hearts, tools would want to be used. Instead of keeping this antique “safe,” I’ve sharpened it and continued its much-deserved journey as a saw. The journey is for me: not the saw.
It don’t care. It don’t give a shiz.
That said, if I didn’t enjoy woodwork, I’d trash the saw: like so many other tools I’ve gotten rid of. I still have it, use it, enjoy it, and also might give it away in a few years (if the enjoyment and appreciation go away).
COUNTER-POINT: A POSITIVE SPIN ON DAMAGING MORALLY-NEUTRAL THINGS
If I hurt something that I really cherished, I do my best to acknowledge the root of the item’s involvement in my activities. I don’t break a tool, camera, phone, skateboard, wrist, bike, vehicle, etc. without it being part of my active life. If it’s part of an activity I’d rather not be doing, that’s on me for THE TOOL and ME being part of something I don’t want to do; something not worth breaking “a tool” for. Otherwise, breaks and scratches are scars that tell stories about how I’ve lived life in a way that’s worth living: for both me and my tools.
If my tool breaks, it’s because I was using it.
If I scratch something I care about, it’s because it was with me. Much like the permanent scars I carry with me, the broken and scarred items I have with me help the story be more honest.
Also, when it’s time for me to give the scratched and scarred tool up for a new one, it’s okay. The memories I have with the tool are mine: not the tool’s.
COUNTER-COUNTER-POINT
If something I’ve used is so broken to the point that it can’t be used enjoyably, I lay it to rest. I mean… I trash it or sell it for parts. Yep… that can be hard to reconcile, but the reality is that each item’s past involvement in my life helped me have MY moment with it. That was the whole point of getting it in the first place: to live a part of life with me.
LEARNING TO LET GO
I’m perpetually exploring the present consequence of owning and caring for each item I own. As obvious as it sounds with typed words, each item’s feelings aren’t hurt when I sell it, give it away, or throw it away. The emotions I feel “for it” are mine and mine alone.
To the items I’ve let go and will, thank you for the memories and unemotional response to our separation.