I keep thinking about things. Stuff. Belongings.
One of the reasons owning my own place, as opposed to renting one, is to feel centred and secure.
Recently speaking to friends it was pointed out to me that really the bank would own most of somewhere I bought and that, although it might sound a bit arty farty, ownership is all an illusion.
I thought to myself that as long as I had a place to stay that really it’s friends and family who ground me and make me feel secure. However I don’t like constantly having things in boxes or feeling I can’t buy this book or that table because I don’t have the room. Why are things important to me? Surely if I were more high minded they wouldn’t be? I have stopped the teenage need to constantly shop for clothes but I do still have quite a lot of clothes and if I’m honest if money were no object I would buy more. The need to buy skirts, scarves and everything in-between has been replaced by a seemingly constant need to buy books and to a lesser extent cds (yes I download but I’m old fashioned I like to own something)- and of course perfume!
It did occur to me that I am partly looking for a very expensive warehouse for my things when I’m looking for a flat and that that is a kind of madness.