The Illusion Of Owning
Do you really own your stuff or does it own you? It’s a question worth sitting with.
We’re born into this world without possessions and leave the same way. Everything we accumulate over a lifetime just passes through our temporary custody. All those prized cars, gadgets and titles may inflate our egos, but they don’t define our worth.
Yet so much of identity gets braided to what we own. We flaunt luxury goods, thinking others will admire us more. But material things often end up possessing us more than we possess them.
Remember how satisfying it felt driving a new car off the lot? The smell, the gleam, the intoxicating sense of possibility. A few years later it’s just a reliable old vehicle you barely notice. The wanting was more fulfilling than the having.
Have you noticed this pattern in your own life? The allure of a new restaurant, gadget or title that feels essential in the moment then quickly becomes ordinary?
Pausing mindfully helps us observe these urges objectively, without getting pulled into reactions. Like waves, they rise up but eventually recede. Wanting often passes more quickly if we simply notice it without judgment.
Attachment breeds fear. Of losing the stuff we have. Of needing more to be satisfied. Of others judging us for what we lack. Ironically, the tighter we cling to material things seeking security, the more anxiety weighs us down.
Even painstakingly curated possessions can’t be frozen in time forever. Eventually our bodies age, loved ones pass on, youth fades. But consciousness remains ever-present, observing it all. Forms crumble, essence endures.
Might we enjoy possessions more lightly as temporary gifts rather than heavy burdens? Without obsessive clinging or worrying about inevitable loss?
What if we viewed ourselves as stewards of resources rather than owners? Custodians caring for this planet we briefly call home? Realizing nothing absolutely belongs to any one of us alone.
Everything recycles eventually, from stardust to inspiration.
But what we gather transforms our souls. Maybe life was never about what we could own, but who we could become by sharing our gifts generously.
Still, old habits die hard. Few questions trigger such unease as “What if nothing was mine?” Even contemplating it rattles our sense of control. But why?
Perhaps believing we own slices of the universe is itself an illusion. An anxiety-soothing fantasy that shrinks the mystery of existence down to a size we can grasp. But in quiet moments of stillness, what do our hearts whisper?
Ownership may simply be a collective story we tell ourselves, no more real than lines on a map. An agreement we make like rules to a game. But the game goes on with or without us.
Possession takes time and energy to sustain the illusion. But gratitude takes none at all. And wonder belongs to the open palm as much as the closed fist.
Maybe by loosening the constraints of ownership, we can access more freedom, lightness and joy. Not resisting what comes and goes so forcefully. Letting life move through us fluidly like a breeze rather than grasping after ghosts.
The next time you find yourself covetously clinging to an object, person or idea, notice that impulse. But don’t judge it. See it as another wave soon to dissolve back into the sea. Breathe. Relax your grip. And float along.
What do you think? Do we own our stuff or does it own us? My views continue to evolve, but I find contemplating this question opens up new possibilities. Everything changes when we realize nothing is permanent. Not even the concept of “mine”.