It would be a blessing to have all the time that I would otherwise waste on creating space in the house for more stuff and making room in the bin for more packaging and plastic. I would prefer to sit by the fire and read a book instead.

My clothes, like the arms of a giant octopus, have found their way underneath beds, in and on wardrobes, stuffed inside chests of drawers, wrapped around banisters and hanging off hooks behind every door. Cycling clothes, work attire, casual wear, Indian outfits, semi-formals, super-stuffy, long dresses, jackets, tunics, thermals, water-proofs, tights and … some never worn more than once a year.

There’s hardly a square foot of flat surface left bare on any table or shelf. The pile of unread books is growing taller every day, shooting accusatory looks at me. Unworn hats, unused gloves, unopened soaps, unlit candles, unadorned jewellery, unsent cards, unrevealed fragrances, lotions and potions … never wanted, never missed.

At the risk of being utterly boring, I am giving myself the gift of non-judgement this Christmas.  I am highlighting all adjectives and striking them off. Good, bad, lovely, pleasant, sad, merry, funny, empty, gorgeous, happy, beautiful, desolate, right, wrong etc are eradicated. All is just the way it is, without the need for appreciation, qualification or categorization. The turkey, the table settings, the cake, the tree, the gifts … just are.

I am uncluttering. Softening. Yielding. Opening. About time too. Nothing is absolute. Even when I’m unsure of myself, I can still make a difference. Feeling lonely doesn’t mean I am alone. Broken hearts too can give and receive love.