I never cry at Whole Foods. Today, it happens. I am crying, and people see me. I have something to heal. I can feel it and I process best with tears.
My processing begins with memories of my beloved paternal grandmother who was great at throwing out crap. Actually, she never possessed crap, just beautiful used things.
Over the summers between my college years, I stored my clothes at her home in Michigan. Upon my return to school in the fall, she would stand, hands on hips while I sorted through my belongings.
“I never wear this, but I really like it.” I see her now, slowly shaking her head and then one firm motion with her thumb up and over her shoulder.
In stark contrast, my grandmother-in-law offered me a used, stained, casserole dish shortly after my gift-laden bridal shower. It’s all in the timing. “No thank you.” She was stunned.
My husband commented that no one had ever turned down her crap. Now what was she going to do with the old casserole dish that her neighbor had passed on to her? It’s kind of like that hot potato game.
I loved all my grandmothers to pieces. They were all loving, strong, beautiful women. However, I can’t help but delve into this a little bit more.
My paternal grandmother was well off, had a beautiful home, clothes, and traveled to Europe and exotic places with her husband. I remember her being content and happy. My grandmother-in-law lived a modest life and she too always seemed to find happiness.
Both my grandmothers chose and looked for happiness. However, one chose monetary abundance. One chose to throw away the old to make room for the new, signaling to the universe she was worthy of bright, new, shiny objects.
The other had trouble parting with used, worn-out things. She subconsciously signaled to the universe she was fine with what she had. She didn’t need or deserve anything new, which brings me to my beloved Toyota.
My car of 15 years has 220,000 miles on it. It is my calm in the eye of a temper tantrum. It is my solace during periods of unexplained weight gain. It is my stage to be the next Mariah Carey. It carries plants and dirt, fertilizer and mulch for me. It is my best friend who always listens.
So, that’s why I stand in Whole Foods crying. It won’t start, and my husband and I decided not to pour any more money into it.
Many people might cry because they don’t have the money for a new car, especially at Christmas when money can be tight. That would make sense. No, I cry because I know it is a used casserole dish that I have to let go.
I look to my paternal grandmother for guidance and I see her with her hands on her hips, slowly shaking her head and firmly gesturing “out.” I come to realize my faithful car also carries a lot of crap.
It is the vehicle I used to transport my husband and daughter on trips to the hospital. It was witness to family arguments and the four-day-too-long road trip. It was where the dog threw up.
These things, surely, I could let go of and, more importantly, should. They represent the garbage that lingers in your mind subconsciously, weighing you down. Literally weighing your vibration down. They are the memories that prevent you from being “present.”
The universe has bestowed me with a beautiful, healing opportunity.
I move on from my tears and decide to let go of the old and let in the new. I let go of a poverty mentality and instead choose abundance. I let go of painful memories and prepare for new joyous ones.
I accept with gratitude my new car. I am worthy. I get in and smell its glorious leather. I gaze at the latest radio technology that has been absent from my life and turn it on.
“All I Want for Christmas is You” heralds out of the speakers, and I belt out the tune as I drive away.
