What Matters Most

We are a materialistic society.  We can tell ourselves we’re not, but we are.  We cling to our things like wrapping from a new DVD sticks to your fingers.  We hang on to our homes, money, possessions, whatever it might be.  We’ve worked for them our whole lives, we’ve earned them, we deserve them, we are so afraid of losing them.

I lived with a man once (or should I say he lived with me) who’s goal in life was to make a quarter million dollars by the time he retired.  That was what mattered to him.  I wrote him a story once called “The Path” about a man who walks on a narrow path in search of his goal.  He tells himself he can’t deviate from the path, even when he’s hungry, thirsty or tired and sees a banquet of food, water or a beautiful place to rest.  In the end, he is expiring, his goal just beyond his reach, the path grown up behind him, having passed up all those things that could have helped him on his journey.  It’s at that point, when it’s too late, he realizes everything he overlooked.  For some reason, my former boyfriend didn’t appreciate my story.

Most of us have goals and they are wonderful and important.  The point of my story, obviously, was to not lose sight of life’s journey.  To not be so consumed with material gains and focused on what’s ahead, that we forget what really matters.  Unfortunately, some of us never figure that out.  To me, life is about making the best of what you’re in, when you’re in it.  Otherwise we miss out on so many moments and just keep looking down a narrow path for something better.  It really is what we choose to do with our time, while we’re here.  That is a person’s true measure of self worth.

When I think of my parents, it isn’t in terms of how much they gave me but how much they gave of themselves.  I found a picture from my 3^rd birthday.  On the back is the caption listing the gifts I got – a box of Cheez-its and a bag of popcorn.   Funny, I don’t remember ever feeling deprived as a kid and I don’t remember thinking I ever went without.  I grew up in a house with seven people and one bathroom yet I don’t remember ever thinking “poor me.”  I never had to pee in a bucket.  I never developed any psychological issues from having to share.  Growing up, my parents instilled a belief that what I had was enough, because I had them, two loving individuals in a loving home.  I still remember the feeling I got every time I opened my parent’s door; the embodiment of home, a sense of comfort and love which I never doubted.

My parents were amazing people.  I think the greatest times they had together were at First Roach, where they spent their summers after they retired.  From May until October they stayed in a tiny camper barely big enough to turn around in.  Their bathroom was an outhouse in the woods.  The campsite sat on top of a gravel road that logging trucks would randomly come barreling down through.  They spent nights sitting in bed together watching a TV the size of a postage stamp.  Yet I could tell when I went to visit them how happy they were; how much they loved it there.   They loved being away from the rest of the world, enjoying this simple life with each other.  Their entertainment was riding around on the 4 wheeler looking for moose or other animals (my father kept a daily journal of animals he saw), sitting around the campfire, watching the hummingbirds and chipmunks.  If Dad had the energy, they went fishing out in the aluminum boat.  It wasn’t about material possessions but about being with each other and just enjoying moments together.

When my husband and I got married and moved to Florida, it seemed like one financial disaster after another.  I think many marriages would have failed, especially in this day of instant gratification, where so much emphasis is placed on money.  It was often a struggle but I look back on those times fondly; living on Ramen noodles, bologna and other packaged, processed food.  I shopped at Winn-Dixie with the other poor folk thinking it was pretty cool to get 19 cent tuna, eggs or paper towels.  Since we never had any money to go out, we spent all our free time going to the beach, driving back home in our beat up Volvo with no air; hot, salty and sandy.  We entertained ourselves by sitting in the garage and watching lightening shows or hanging out on the back porch on the weekend listening to A Prairie Home Companion.  We took walks with the dog, cat and cockatiel – yes, all together.  It was an interesting time to get to know each other.  When we moved back to Maine things didn’t improve much financially.  We moved into my parent’s camp on the lake, an old converted mobile home which my father-in-law affectionately referred to as “Tobacco Road.”  From there Dan had the brilliant idea to rent the “unwinterized” camp next door for the winter.  I’m not sure how many mornings I woke up with ice in the toilet.  I would stall coming home from work so he would start a fire before I got there.  My rooster lived in the toolshed.  It was an adventure.  Life with Dan was always an adventure and fun and amazing, no matter what we did or what our situation was, because we were always in it together.  After Dan died, I had our dream home built on the lake for our children to grow up in.  I would have given it up in a minute to have him back, living in that cold camp or tiny trailer, shopping with the poor folk at Winn Dixie.  In my eulogy I wrote the following words:

“I guess my favorite times (and I think they were yours too) were when we would hump up for the day, buy lots of snacks, and snuggle up together and watch movies.  We didn’t need to go out to enjoy each others company.  We never needed money for our happiness.”

“We faced a lot of tough times you and I.  There were so many holes that we fell into.  But in those times, when the whole world seemed to be beating on our door, we held on to what mattered most.  As long as we had each other, we could deal with anything.”

I admit it was difficult when I had to sell my house a few years ago.  It wasn’t so much the idea of losing a beautiful place on the water as it was losing a sense of belonging and a home I felt my children could always come back to.  I bounced around after that and ended up in my sister’s barn for a summer, which isn’t actually a barn but a huge building with unfinished rooms upstairs.  I called it the desert; about 100 degrees during the day and cold at night.  I suppose it was a difficult time, but I tried to look at it as a unique experience, part of my journey.  I healed from some things and spent quality time with my sister and brother-in-law and found out once again how loved I am by my family.  It was a great place to wander around in the woods, be alone and find some peace.  I joked with my sister that they ought to set up “Freeman House – a Spiritual Retreat.”  I still think it would work.  It worked for me.

Perhaps I am still searching for that place which gives me a true sense of belonging.  I currently live in a crappy little apartment in the city next to frightening neighbors.  But that crappy little apartment is close to work, lets me keep my dog and has lots of storage space so finally all of my things are in the same place after three years.  Perhaps its not ideal, but my sisters come over for coffee, friends visit, and I have holiday dinners for my family.  To date, all three of my children have stayed with me when they needed to.  It is a place for them to come, where they know they are loved and cared for.  Ultimately, it doesn’t matter if it’s a beautiful home on a lake, an old apartment in the city or a tiny camper in the boonies.  What matters most is the love that’s waiting inside when you open the door.

We can acquire all the wealth and possessions we want in the world but I always think back to the times I was the happiest.  It wasn’t about what I had.  It was those times I felt the most loved.  Growing up with my parents, being married to Dan, raising my children, spending time with family, friends or people I love, this is what life is supposed to be about.  People aren’t going to remember what things you give them, they are going to remember how you give of yourself.  All the material possessions in the world, all the fortunes really don’t count for much, if we haven’t figured that out.  It is the time we spend, the love we give, what we have inside of ourselves that matters most.