How to Drop the Invisible Load Weighing You Down

Years ago, I was sitting on the balcony of my apartment in Brooklyn, unaware of the lesson about to unfold.

It was a gorgeous spring day, and the morning routine I’d started in prison was unfolding as the sun peeked over the neighboring apartment buildings.

It was me, a single chair (passed from tenant to tenant), my black and white composition notebook, a pen, and a cup of coffee.

The mug I was drinking out of was one of the few vestiges of my past life I still owned.

In a bout of overwhelming unworthiness, I told my ex-wife over the prison phone that she could have everything in the divorce.

I felt tremendous shame for what I’d done and didn’t feel worthy of our possessions. But she insisted I take a television and the tableware, because it wasn’t just any tableware.

I’d spent well over four figures on a Juliska (to match the light fixtures in our entryway) set of plates, bowls, mugs, and all other accouterments.

I carried three distinct feelings around that tableware.

A part of me still reserved some kind of reverence for the tableware, as if the brand name meant something.

As if owning it still said something about me, even though there were nights I…