One of the things that you realize when you move from one home to the next is that you can’t take everything with you. It’s a different environment, a different space, a different season. Maybe you had a garage, and now you will not. Or you had a back yard and now, not so much. Maybe you had a boat, but haven’t now for almost two years. But you still have the motor. Because it’s a nice motor.

I sold it today to a guy that seems nice. He didn’t try to haggle with me about the price, which I appreciated very much. It’s a good motor, I told him. I like it. It makes me feel good. I was just a little sad to see it go.

We seem to accumulate things, almost unconsciously. It’s insidious, in it’s own way. Stuff just… multiples. And, silly as it seems, sometimes I get attached. Plants, fishing poles, clothes. Pens. Why do I currently own approximately 300 pens? And that’s after sorting them, keeping only the ‘nice’ ones. My definition of nice in this case seems to be anything that could possibly retail for over .19 cents. Though I do not remember buying any of these pens. Oops.

I have invested considerable time this week finding homes for my outside plants that I will not have room for after I move. I advertised, incentivized, coaxed and cajoled, and am so very grateful to the five lovely people who have adopted them. I had to write notes to all of them – the people, not the plants – to tell them about care and feeding, etc. and about how much joy those plants had brought to me, and that I hoped they would bring joy to them as well.

Maybe that’s a good yardstick – how much joy something – or someone – invites, or invokes. And maybe that’s what I really am attached to: not the things so much, but the joy that I have experienced as a result of experiencing the things.

I got a note the other day – I’ve been getting a lot of notes lately, of various and assorted kinds – and I was reminded of some of the things that I like about that person, and my experience of that. Her existence brings me joy.

When I think about life that way, in terms of the joy meter, there is so much. It is so rich. And though letting go of things and knowing that relationships are morphing into new versions of themselves can easily make me just a bit sad, I am also reminded of the joy, the great, tremendous, often overwhelming joy that pours itself into my life on a pretty regular basis. I am truly blessed.

Even when I am adopting out outboard motors, or plants, or even pens, they are little packages of joy. That’s how I experience them. And my hope, my heart’s desire is that I can give that joy away, be it with a thing, or a thought, or a smile or a word.

So, the motor is gone to it’s new home. The plants are on their way to four out of the five fine folk who are adopting. I’ll have to deliver the rest. But I do still have pens. Lots of them. Up for adoption. Little pens of joy.