Mininalists and maximalists alike care deeply for their material possessions. Not only for their number of them, but their condition. We grieve annotated books and lay to rest rings with scratches. What do they change? The appearance? The aesthetic? Rich and poor alike see material objects as something to be kept in good condition, but beyond protecting functionality, is instinct. Like we would with a child with a scrape or a dog with a limp we see what we cherish as it once was not. As if it truly broke. But what is "broken"? The word "damage" has a negative valence, but what of a stuffed animal loved to shreds? But what of a cherished pair of shoes with frayed aglets and faded color? We say change is loss, but what do we lose? A sense of novelty. A mint condition; the facade of an untouched object, an untouched life. Something loved is something worn. Does chipping a bowl change it's shape? Does a small tear change a book's words? Immerse yourself in your belongings' aging. Like a cracked bowl repaired with gold to reveal a sprawling tree, let them age to show that you loved them. Let go the idea of pristine, unloved belongings. Forget the impermanence of possessions and appreciate the longevity of human compassion, where we love until death do us part.
