I watched Up in the Air last night which was a great movie.

I wouldn’t qualify this following passage from the movie as a spoiler, but if you’re really sensitive about stuff like that… consider yourself warned.

How much does your life weigh? Imagine for a second that you’re carrying a backpack. I want you to pack it with all the stuff that you have in your life… you start with the little things. The shelves, the drawers, the knickknacks, then you start adding larger stuff. Clothes, tabletop appliances, lamps, your TV… the backpack should be getting pretty heavy now… Your couch, your car, your home….

I was talking to a friend today and in (what I’d like to think is an uncharacteristically exasperated) voice nearly yelled at her, “Why do I have all this stuff… what do I really need this stuff for…”

Why do I need 60 pieces of silverware in my kitchen drawer for only three people?

Why do I need four bathrooms?

Why do I have five sippy cups for one four year old?!!

These sentiments, I know, border on blasphemy in that they probably indicate a lack of gratitude for actually being able to buy that stuff, to have a beautiful place to keep that stuff, and to have been blessed with family who have given us some of this stuff.

That’s not the case.  I am grateful.  Incredibly grateful.

My consternation actually emanates from my not realizing a simple truth much earlier: everything you own will own you to some degree. I know I’m not exactly aged, but I really would have liked to learn this somewhere around my twenties.

I probably could have used the money I spent on flatware alone to buy 52 round trip tickets to France.

Every object exacts a price, and not just the one we paid for it.  The price is paid in maintenance, time and effort.  It is critical, then, to evaluate whether that thing’s ownership of us is actually worth the benefit of having it in our lives.

Does it sustain me?  Is it absolutely necessary?  Is it distracting me from what I believe to be life’s true meaning?

As of this moment, I feel like I’m climbing up Mt. Everest with a backpack full of expensive hair products, four digital clocks and 60 serving dishes.

When I get thirsty, hungry or sick, what good are those things going to do me?

Not much.

I need more room in my backpack.  For my family, for my friends, for God.  Those are the things that sustain me and are consistent with nurturing my soul.  Every ounce of strength devoted to carrying the extraneous is an ounce of strength subtracted from the things that I know in my soul are more important than anything.

Do these things exact a price and do they add weight to my backpack?  Of course.

But the difference between them and the digital clocks is that what they give back is much more precious.

Strength.

To keep moving.  To keep going.  And, sometimes, to rest.

In the end, those things make the backpack feel not quite as heavy.  And those are the only things with which I intend to continue my journey.*

So, I’m wondering.

What’s in your backpack?  Everything you want?  Or more silverware?

*And, no, I am not giving away my patio furniture.  So don’t even ask.   You know who you are.