Finding Inspiration in a Billionaire Without a Home

Nicolas Berggruen is a multi-billionaire that doesn't own his own home...or a car...or not much else, for that matter.

He lost interest in acquiring and owning material things. At some point, he realized that you can't buy happiness, nor can you find it in possessions...and then he sold off everything he had.

According to Mr Berggruen, “Living in a grand environment to show myself and others that I have wealth has zero appeal. Whatever I own is temporary, since we’re only here for a short period of time. It’s what we do and produce, it’s our actions, that will last forever. That’s real value.”

As a hopeless packrat, I am starting to really feel the burden of possessions and have recently embarked on a whole house de-junking adventure. While I am not too sure why I own most of what I have, I do understand why I can't just toss it away. My frugal nature prevents me. Some of it could be useful to someone else. But I can't locate the someone else that would provide a home for my unwanted things.

I had considered placing an ad somewhere, promising a 'gift' to anyone and everyone that shows up at my house on a particular weekend. If the turnout is good, I should have a lot more breathing space on the following Monday.

Just imagine the look on the face of the person that shows up and gets an Encyclopedia Britannica set, originally worth over $2000. I have been trying to get rid of that, unsucessfully, for the last 5 years!

There are other things that I can't part with, not because I need them, but because of the symbolic nature of the objects. They have a sentimental value to me. It's my feelings for the person they remind me of, that prevents me from discarding them.

Why do humans place such a high value on silly objects that were owned by deceased loved ones & friends, and people they will probably never see again? Is it a thought that by keeping these things that you are keeping a part of them alive? Keeping the good times of the past by keeping the objects of the past? Can the memory live without the objects? How much of a long term impact will it truly have on your life, your memories, and your feelings, if you part with grandma's old worn out sewing box? Or a bracelet that your deceased brother made for you back when you were 9 years old? Or baby clothes that were worn by your child, who is now all grown up?

I am going to use Nicolas Berggruen as my inspiration, and try to learn to let go of "stuff". At the very least, it will make it much easier to pack, the next time I have to move.

Paul Adams: The Impossibility of Failure

I found an essay today, by a musician named Paul Adams. I happen to like some of his music, so I was doing a bit of research on him and found his MySpace page.

Usually, I will visit the MySpace pages of musicians I like, if they have one, in hopes of finding some free mp3's to download. This time was no different.

Instead I found this:

"... Hitting the wall and making mistakes provides us with invaluable lessons. Playing a guitar, driving a tractor, planting seed, painting a picture, etc. blooms best from error. Failing is a great teacher. Its Gods force of nature molding us like clay. BUT, this is a little different. Clay is the perfect deciple or student. Clay has no part in making the DECISION to become what it will be. It completely surrenders to the artist who molds it into form and reality. Man, on the other hand, has choice. Failure offers to mold us. It is a co-op between Man, God, and destiny. An artist, craftsman, or worker, can use life experience (Failure) as an interplay toward growth and learning. Get up, and have at it AGAIN!. Those who have had a completely smooth ride may not have had the opportunity to test themselves. *Those who do not choose to bend and flex with failure, are missing the opportunity to paint w/ nature and circumstance. They are saying no when God asks them to dance and adjust. They are denying an opportunity to seek out a different perspective. They are saying no when God asks them to learn from mistakes and become better at what they do. We are too busy reacting - we are not listening. ..."

Read more...

Paul goes on to talk about the best reason for doing anything in life and how sometimes when something is not so good, why it can actually have a higher value than something that is great.

I decided to print the entire thing and save it for the next time frustration sets in and I begin to question myself about why I do what I do, and start having those thoughts about giving up.

Some dreams are worth dying for*

*Kiwis can't fly.

Free Hugs

The story behind the Free Hugs Campaign and how it all began is heart wrenching:

"I'd been living in London when my world turned upside down and I'd had to come home. By the time my plane landed back in Sydney, all I had left was a carry on bag full of clothes and a world of troubles. No one to welcome me back, no place to call home. I was a tourist in my hometown.

Standing there in the arrivals terminal, watching other passengers meeting their waiting friends and family, with open arms and smiling faces, hugging and laughing together, I wanted someone out there to be waiting for me. To be happy to see me. To smile at me. To hug me. "

Read more...

Sick Puppies - All the Same

I don't mind where you come from
As long as you come to me
I don't like illusions I can't see
Them clearly

I don't care, no I wouldn't dare
To fix the twist in you
You've shown me eventually
What you'll do

I don't mind…
I don't care…
As long are you're here

Go ahead tell me you'll leave again
You'll just come back running
Holding your scarred heart in hand
It's all the same

And I'll take you for who you are
If you take me for everything
Do it all over again
It's all the same

Hours slide and days go by
Till you decide to come
And in between it always seems too long
All of a sudden

And I have the skill, yeah I have the will
To breathe you in while I can
However long you stay
Is all that I am

I don't mind…
I don't care…
As long are you're here

Go ahead tell me you'll leave again
You'll just come back running
Holding your scarred heart in hand
It's all the same

And I'll take you for who you are
If you take me for everything
Do it all over again
It's always the same

Wrong or right
Black or white
If I close my eyes
It's all the same

In my life
The compromise
I close my eyes
It's all the same

Go ahead say it, you're leaving
You'll just come back running
Holding your scarred heart in hand
It's all the same

And I'll take you for who you are
If you take me for everything
Do it all over again
It's all the same

The Song of Life

I thought the following story was very sweet, but almost too incredible to be true...like a fairytale. I'd love to verify it.

There is a tribe in East Africa in which the art of true intimacy (I would call it bonding) is fostered even before birth. In this tribe, the birth date of a child is not counted from the day of its physical birth nor even the day of conception, as in other village cultures. For this tribe the birth date comes the first time the child is a thought in its mother's mind. Aware of her intention to conceive a child with a particular father, the mother then goes off to sit alone under a tree. There she sits and listens until she can hear the song of the child that she hopes to conceive. Once she has heard it, she returns to her village and teaches it to the father so that they can sing it together as they make love, inviting the child to join them. After the child is conceived, she sings it to the baby in her womb. Then she teaches it to the old women and midwives of the village, so that throughout the labor and at the miraculous moment of birth itself, the child is greeted with its song. After the birth, all the villagers learn the song of their new member and sing it to the child when it falls or hurts itself. It is sung in times of triumph, or in rituals and initiations. The song becomes a part of the marriage ceremony when the child is grown, and at the end of life, his or her loved ones will gather around the deathbed and sing this song for the last time.

(From Birth and Violence)