I shared briefly the other day about my compulsion to periodically rid myself of things. My clothes have been pared down to the minimum and my actual "things" could fit in a trunk. I have always felt sort of embarrassed that things didn't mean to much to me but now I think I am glad. I am not a slave to things and I don't love anything that doesn't have the capability of loving me back.
Heterosexual men, that I have know are caught up in things. Having things, getting the next thing completely describes my dad. He loves the wrong things. That is sad and it makes me sad that he isn't able to make a real connection with my sister or me. It seems like such a waste. I hope I don't make the same choices he made, I hope I don't suddenly find "things" so important.
More than anything I want to have a heart that is reached and reaches people as honestly and real as possible and not bedazzled by the promise of next, bigger, newer.