The Art of Letting Go

You may or may not know this about me but I don't own a set of dishes. Not a matching set, anyway. It's not that I'm perpetually living like a college student, twelve years post-college. It's a choice I've made, if not partly because I couldn't possibly choose just one pattern or style.

I love things that are different. I love most colors and patterns. I love constantly rummaging through thrift stores, antique malls and the clearance section at Anthropologie for a new plate, bowl or mug to add to my collection. I love that this snapshot of my cupboard will be ever-changing.

People ask me if I have my favorites and, of course, I do. And what happens when one breaks and it's the only one? That is actually one of the most beautiful things about my collection. Because that is when I practice letting go.

One of my favorite mugs fell from the top shelf the other day and, let me tell you, it was sad. My bestie gave it to me and it was an excellent mug for sipping hot chocolate. My sweet husband offered to collect the pieces and fix it but I knew it wouldn't be right. Some of my dishes do have cracks or super-glued handles and I keep them in rotation because they still hold liquid and they are still essentially themselves. Then sometimes one really breaks and you know it's time to say goodbye. It's a practice in sadness, mourning, letting go and moving on. It's good for my soul.

Maybe it's simple or silly but these dishes, each as unique as a person, help me to practice being a better me. So much of what home is, to me, is helping me to just deal with life and the world. Home is refuge, yes.  It is sanctuary, yes. And sometimes it is character CrossFit. Home sends us forth equipped with whatever we've gleaned from the place and the people within. So, what if my dishes make me cry sometimes?

People ask me if I do anything special with these broken favorites and, yes, I do. I put them in the trash. Like I said, it's a practice in letting go. Moving on.