My second favorite jacket

Possessions. I have my moments, when I’ve been grasping onto to something, and then it happens. Suffering. I shake my fist in the air and say outload, “This is what Buddha meant!” Attachment leads to suffering. Attachments are transient and loss is inevitable.

I came home from a quick grocery run and found my second favorite jacket on the floor, not where I left it. The conversation in my head went something like this….the pocket is ripped open…there are crumbs on the floor….oh yea, I had a baggie of dog treats in the pocket from yesterday’s hike…Hank! ….oh well, I can patch it…wait, the zipper is torn off…the zipper! Why?!…Hank!….Ugh!!!!!

After a five-minute rant where I told Hank that I was so disappointed I couldn’t even look at him, I then realized that I couldn’t even look at myself. It’s a jacket. Yes, it’s super cool. It’s just the right weight. The colors are unique. But, it’s a jacket.

What followed next was an apology to Hank. Lots of top-of-the-head smooches and an admission that it was probably my own fault. And anyway, it’s just a jacket. A material possession. And this is what Buddha meant.

Yes, I know there is a deeper meaning to “the root of all suffering is attachment”. But let’s face it, these simple incidents are reminders to watch out for the big stuff.

I suppose, the act of possession is something we should pause and consider occasionally. On the start of a recent hike, I halted at the trailhead, reading the usual sign, “this trail is open to dogs, hikes, bikes, horses.” It made me think, what belongs to us? What is ours? What do we possess? Why do we want it? I walked in peace, passing a 5- or 8-point buck (how do you count?), looking at all varietals of birds across the lake, the trees, the grass, the sky, knowing that these aren’t mine. But having them in my life, near me, causes me to feel.

It reminded me of our log home and how I loved it.  We bought 100 acres, we built a log home, we worked the land. I think about it often. I loved that place. And yes, sometimes I feel uncomfortable saying I love a human and then turning around and saying that I love an inanimate object. Well, I’ve decided it’s okay for me to love a thing, a possession if you will, if I love it for the right reasons. Not as a status symbol. Not for how it looks or makes me look. But maybe for how it gives back to me.

Loving that land, that home, is loving it for the experiences that it provided me. We sold it because it was work, it was tying us down, and we had some new plans. When we put it on the market, we actually thought we’d have at least another year with it. We thought it would take a while to sell, but we got a great offer within a month and that was it.

We had to leave it sooner than planned, and I was a bit of an emotional wreck through it all. The day we drove the truck down that long driveway exiting our property for the last time, I sobbed for miles. And I could never, ever return to the area. That’s how attached I was. It was really hard to let go. I felt the suffering.

I wrote a letter to the new owners, and on that departure day, I left it inside a copy of Breakfast at Timothy’s on the coveted marble slab countertop. Recently, the second new owner of “our” home, contacted me. He said he found my letter, the one I left for the original buyers, and he was very moved by it. He wanted to assure me that he planned to restore it in a way that was true to our dreams and experiences. I was so glad to hear this as I knew the house and land turned out to be too much for the previous buyers.

Here is the last paragraph of that letter. I share it because it is evidence that we can feel love, connection, strong emotion toward a place or a thing because of the experiences we have had with it.

“We wish you a great life on Jagger Breeze Farm or whatever its new name will become.  We built it with hard work, a deep love for nature, and the friendship between ourselves and our family/friends… Our hearts are heavy, but we leave this to you with the hope that you will receive as much contentment as we have in this beautiful place.”

It seems an insult to think that Buddha philosophized about my second favorite jacket or my mountain home. But it is an easy way to be shaken out of stupor of consumerism and materialism and reminded that nothing and no one is really mine at least not forever. Regardless of ownership, or how hard we hold on, or how hard we love. But I don’t think impermanence should make us worry about someday suffering, because the only thing achieved by worry is missing out on the present. We simply need to be strong enough to let go when the times comes. And in the meantime, it is okay to love a person, or a home, or most certainly that dog who chewed the zipper off your second favorite jacket.