Epiphany and Life in Three Boxes

I have never counted the epiphanies in my life. I wonder if I should be recording them; keep a record of the times grace has silently slipped into the room occupied by my mind and shone a light. After all, isn't that the description of an epiphany? The appearance of a divine entity; usually accompanied by a bright light. Your own personal deer in the headlights moment. Only you are not afraid of a semi-truck pointed in your direction. It's really much worse than that. For those less inclined to believe in a deity suddenly appearing in the middle of their daily commute, it could be an intuitive moment when a solution presents itself. A leap. Epiphanies have regularly scheduled themselves on my calendar. Evidently, I am in great need of intuitive leaps.

Today I had the leap. Three years ago, I lost a dear friend to self-neglect, fear of the unknown, and such a strong sense of self-reliance she could not call out for help. Many of us knew she was in trouble. However, we believed she would consider an intervention an invasion of her privacy, and she would retaliate by excising us from her life. So rather than anger her and risk losing her friendship, we lost her.

One brave soul took up the mantle of estate executor. We discovered the departed had hoarded so many memories within the walls of her home. Those memories included tangible items (perhaps against their will), as well as a vast number of books. It was a frightening revelation of her needs. She considered books her only friends. Friends who could never disappoint, betray, or abandon her. The executor told me she filled a large industrial dumpster almost a dozen times before the house was empty enough to clean.

My friend infected me with the book-hoarding virus. I was attending graduate school and commuted several hundred miles a week. Research on campus required a great deal of forethought and scheduling. It was easier to search for and purchase books online. My friend encouraged me in that activity, and I believed I would need those books forever. Every research topic, every graduate course required more and more books. My office became a book depository with just a narrow walkway through the boxes.

My epiphany was realizing I didn't need a thousand or more books forever. So, I finally began disposing of the majority of my book collection. I discovered a wonderful used bookstore whose owner gladly bought my books. I have sold over three hundred books in the past year. It has been torturous at times. How do you decide which child to leave on the steps of the orphanage, and which child to keep?

I love the movie "Under the Tuscan Sun." The heroine finds she must decide what personal possessions to take from her home. Finally, she points to three boxes. "Those are all I want." She is a writer, so the boxes are full of books.

Faced with the luxury of three boxes, what would my boxes contain? They would hold pictures of my children and husband. Maybe a crocheted or knitted afghan and a pair of embroidered pillowcases, an apron, and a cookbook. My book selection would include The Bible, Shakespeare's Sonnets, Thoreau, James Michener, and the Chicago Manual of Style. Perhaps a few DVDs as well for entertainment. It is a brave thing to reduce life to a small circle of light. To realize what is really necessary for your mental and emotional happiness and fulfillment. It is energizing.

If you only had three boxes in which to pack your life, what would be in them? Think about it. Let me know what you decide.