Interrupting is frustrating. You think you have something valuable to share, but when you notice someone interrupting, you feel rushed for the rest of the conversation to make your point or risk leaving your thoughts floating in your head, unheard.
My husband Justin and I always debate about which is better, mountains or beaches. My family grew up going to a beach every summer, so I’ve always been on team beach. Justin has been to Colorado many times and has developed a heart for the mountains and often tries to make me admit mountains are better.
Yesterday, we climbed Pikes Peak. The hike took us 7 hours and 15 minutes from trail head to summit, and within the first hour I was converted from “team beach” to “team mountain.”
Will I wish I could have said that about some thing I’m currently considering getting rid of, or will I end up pulling it out of the closet in 20 years saying, “Why on earth did I keep this?”
That unknown is my real struggle with minimalism. How do I know which things will be which?
One thing you should know about me, I have a terrible memory. Part of the reason I forget so easily is I don’t (or didn’t) take the time to reflect on my experiences. Moments I didn’t realize I would forget, I forgot. Memories I didn’t think were anything other than mundane were lost. Trips with family, conversations with friends, and experiences that changed me as a person were remembered only at a macro level without any of the details that made those experiences so worthwhile. By journaling consistently and increasing my intentionality, I’ve found I remember a lot more than I thought, I just hadn’t given myself the mental space to recall it.
I will fight the urge to “start back up when we get home from Colorado.” No, absolutely not. Because there is always another “Colorado.” There is always a reason to delay working toward your goals just a little longer. If I’ve learned anything from starting this whole writing/blogging process about a month ago, I’ve learned I’m done thinking this way. It’s not productive and it ultimately leaves me with good intentions but no results.
A coworker of mine, who is in his mid-forties, recently asked me a question to get my “youthful perspective.” I can’t remember what his question was, but I do know I responded in an opposite and much less enthusiastic way than many people my age would have, given the topic. His response was, “You wouldn’t be the best person to ask, you’re kind of an old soul.”