I've always been given things. Original artwork, journals, complete book collections, a unicorn mug. Dish sets and desk chairs. Furniture and blankets. A mound of scotch tape lives in the storage closet even though I can't recall a single time I've ever bought it! I've similarly magnetized paper clips and staples. Over half of my succulent jungle was either gifted or adoptions. Lately I've been getting a steady stream of adult coloring books, equipped with cartons of colored pencils. I have precious Zuni jewelry laced with elaborate turquoise inlays, from my mother. Eclectic dangly necklaces picked especially for me, on a friend's travels. Even this MacBook Pro, the primary creative tool in my life, was a graduation gift from my parents.
Some hand-me-downs are better than others. Until recently, we slept on two twin mattresses from my childhood bedroom pushed together on the floor. The springs bolted down to the ground if I took a knee too fast - walking across them felt like hopping a path of pebbles that disintegrated as soon as you jumped to the next. I've been narrowing down to only the things I regularly use or genuinely adore. I pay the rest forward because we all deserve comfort, quality and practicality - sometimes it just comes in recycled wrapping.
I have mixed feelings about being a wholehearted receiver of life goods. On a Self-Doubt Day, I feel unaccomplished in life, because I'm "yet to buy." A car, laptop, bath towels, bean bag chair, matching set of pots and pans, cat tree . . . On a Confident Day, I feel loved - awed that so many people have known me so well that they've given me things I would have picked for myself (In these instances, I did pick them. I just didn't buy them.). I've been able to live cozily, at a time when I live quite simply. Everything I need and more of what I want continues showing up. Some bought. Some received. All of it Created.