I have a thing for elephants.
I collected elephant figurines when I was young; I suppose it’s fair to say I still do. I have always been fascinated and charmed by those big grey critters.
I had this adorable little guy above for years. He’s one of the few elephant figurines that usually moved with me because I loved him so much. He took quite a beating though; broken and reglued and broken again, chips…poor guy. With cats and soon, a baby in the house, he didn’t stand a chance of remaining in one piece for long.
You may notice a tinge of anthropomorphism here. I’ve always been hesitant to throw inanimate objects away. What is it about mere objects that makes some humans loath to part with them? For fear of something ridiculous like hurting its feelings and feeling sorry for it? How exactly does one create such absurd and unrealistic patterns of thought? Why do we learn to assign personalities to things that aren’t even alive, let alone capable of emotions? No wonder we get materially bogged down over the course of our lives; it certainly happened to me until some new viewpoints helped me reach a new level of understanding with my stuff. Experiences and the day-to-day and my pictures documenting our life are now replacing “things” and “stuff” as my truly precious possessions, and I’m proud for making that distinction. It’s a slow process, and I have a ways to go, but looking back over the past year of my life, I see definite progress.
I let the elephant figurine go the other day, and I have to admit I do feel a little sad, but I recognize that I am not lacking because I no longer am in possession of it. Slow and steady wins this non-race.