Organise or Let it Be

There must be some sort of personality type grid with Organise in one corner and Let it Be in the other.

Whatever.

But I feel them fighting inside me.

Mostly it’s Organise that wins. The fact that all these words are (hopefuly) spelled correctly demonstrates that principle.

At other times, you gotta just let stuff be. The sun is out, the sky is blue(ish) – I just let those things get on with being themselves. No sense in getting her up about them.

But there are things in the middle that I just don’t know what to do with.

Things like:

  • Memories
  • Old laptops
  • Mortifications
  • Last year’s socks
  • Memorabilia
  • Old friends
  • Writings.

I don’t know whether to leave them where they are so that they rot in-situ or whether to dust them off and arrange them neatly in some well-lit place so that I can look at them.

I’d like to write an autobiography. I guess first of all, I’ll need to do something extraordinary. Much though I’m enjoying it, sitting on a wall typing this doesn’t qualify. Even sharing such blinding insights as you’re reading now doesn’t cut it either.

I’d like to dig out the contents the attic and garage, attach an rfid chip to everything and then pack it all back.

I’d love for someone to come along and catalogue all the people I ever knew and then present me with an indexed book containing photographs and information about them all.

I’d love to get on with publishing all the things I’ve ever written. All those long-lost stories. All those posts on blogs and forums. All that utter twaddle.

Yeah, on second thoughts – maybe just let it all be.

51 thoughts on “Organise or Let it Be

          • Oh, of course. I talked with all of my husband’s children and asked if there were things they wanted of their dad’s when he died. I made boxes up and sent them lots of personal things of his, jewelry, sports related clothes and hats, electronics, books. I keep things with his handwriting for me and videos on my phone to hear his voice. I donated coats to a coat collection drive last winter which I knew he would like. I can’t part with lots of things yet because it would feel like his life didn’t matter…

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            • Sounds like you’ve hit on a sensible and heartfelt approach there, Dee (and, to be honest, I wouldn’t have expected anything less from you). Compassion and love have settled on you like a deep, safe, warm, nourishing (okay, I’ll stop now) covering of leaves on the forest floor. When you say that about feeling that one’s life has mattered – that’s exactly how I feel. I still need to get there, though. Working on it.

              Liked by 1 person

        • You’re right, you’re not that possessive. I found this:
          “Sottolinea, spesso rudemente, dubbio o incertezza ( Ce la farà? Mah! e chi lo può dire? ), oppure disapprovazione ( Ha lasciato gli studi? Mah! ) o anche rassegnazione ( È andata così! Mah!, cosa ci vuoi fare! ).”

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            • ## TRIGGER ALERT ##
              What does it feel like to *be* an Italian? I mean, in terms of the position of their (your?) culture (generally) and literature (specifically) on the world stage? Is.there a feeling of wanting to move towards other cultures?

              Liked by 1 person

            • We feel frustrated, we are an aging country, which does not love its excellence and above all the new generations. We have been colonized by the Anglo-Saxon culture (since the Second World War) and we continue to disdain our being “in” the Mediterranean, which has always been a crossroads of cultures, trade and peoples. From a literary point of view at the moment we are worth nothing, despite our roots, if not as a reflection of the vision that others have of us (see Elena Ferrante case). It is other cultures that come to us, “invading us”. More than a propensity to go towards them, we are experiencing a progressive adjustment. Being active or passive, in this process, determines the degree of mutual awareness and recognition, we go from being curious to being wary and fearful. And we return to the aging country.

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            • I’ve been reading this over and over since you posted it 19 hours ago. I have the feeling that I can’t say anything about the subject that wouldn’t sound trite and trivial. You seem to know Italy deeply and profoundly, and in a way that I don’t think I’ll ever know England. I barely know a corner of my own mind. I envy you your surety but on the other hand, I don’t aspire to it. Change will come and all that we were sure of will become obsolete. We’re all at a crossroads … and then I was going to say something else, but it sounded trite in my mind so I stopped.
              Another one of your sides emerges. You’re a complex and heartfelt woman, Donna.
              Hey, wait – are you Elena Ferrante? 🙂

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            • Oh how many questions arise in my mind: I want to number them.
              1- how do you notice that Italian women are excitable creatures?
              2- how do you notice that Italian women are excited?
              3- which below are you talking about? (by nature I am inclined to investigate as many meanings as possible) 😛

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            • I bow my head. I see: the amaranth T-shirt (sure, there’s something in it), the blue linen pants (sure, there’s something in it) and the feet in bronze flip-flops. I think I have answered your question in great detail 😛
              Ah! Do you mean that we Italian women are the object of the most sinister international prejudices? Ok, we are a bit like that, but not always 🙂

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            • You see, the thing is: I’m only aware of these stereotypes in a very abstract way. From movies, from my few visits to Italy, from conversations such as this one. Yes, you seem to be talking about my impression of a hybrid Italian man/woman. But no, in a practical sense I’m really talking about the nature of the people I have met and talked to. The excitable manner of speaking when provoked, the smiles (with teeth) that seem to say more than the words indicate. The raw sexuality that simmers beneath it all. I see these things and they seem … oh, I don’t know – like they are part of a nature that I don’t see in England. And as for the sinister mafia?) thing – I don’t see that at all. I see a way of loving that comes from having seen and absorbed a parent’s way of loving.

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            • No no, “sinister” referred to the stereotypes (even literary ones, see Dickens’ “Letters from Italy”). Here in fact the parents are, for better or for worse, expansive, the body has a central role in all aspects of living, perhaps the climate helps (the temperature), in this sense, the exposure of the body is a recognition, but it is always difficult to generalize.

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            • Yeah, no, in that case I don’t subscribe to sinister interpretations of Italian characters in either literature or life. My experience is that Italians are (generally) open-hearted, expansive, generous and alert to (but tolerant of (to an extent)) … what? Intrusion? Negative opinions of them? Not sure. As to their (your? Do you identify as Italian?) generosity (shall we say?) with their (your) bodies and related aspects (sexual interest primarily) – that’s something I’ve noticed too. When you say that ‘the body has a central role in all aspects of living’ then this partly explains. I’d be interested in how this works practically. Too many observations and questions?

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            • 🙂 Wasn’t intending to flatter you, Donna. But all the same, I’m aware that I have a tendency to have this effect and, so, mea culpa. The wife tells me all the time to stop flirting with people and I just look at her blankly because it doesn’t feel like flirting to me, it just feels like an expression of my friendly and outgoing nature. I tend to be curious too and don’t ask a lot of personal questions that can quickly get deep and create the impression of intimacy. Thing is, even though I enjoy your company and conversation, courtship is not on the cards. And I tbank you kindly for the gentle warning. I know nothing tangible about you, Donna. You are a mystery. And yet …

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            • I was going to say ‘swamp’ at first, but not many people have swamps close by. But even cellar is not so good because some people might have very nice cellars. Maybe you have a wine cellar. What I was trying to say is that I never thought you to be a dirty, smelly creature from somewhere unpleasant. But then again, why would I? Sometimes I need to persuade myself to stop talking. This is one of those occasions. 🤐

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