Jon22: The Website of Jonathan Dobres

It’s times like this that I wish I were a Buddhist. A Buddhist would grab his robe, his prayer mat, and a shoot of bamboo, and say, “Alright, guys, see you at the new place!”

Unfortunately, I’m not a Buddhist, so here I sit, surrounded by boxes and half-packed knick knacks. I’m moving, and moving always makes me a little sad. The Buddhists say that our beloved possessions are just empty things that bind us to a world of suffering, and that you shouldn’t let such things define who you are. The Buddhists are half right. A thing should never define who you are. They do, however, reflect the story of your life.

Do I really have any tangible proof that I’m a college graduate without my diploma? Could I really live without this computer? How many hours have I spent at this crappy desk? Have you seen the books on my shelf? Why is this kitchen so clean?  You’d get a pretty good idea of what my life has been like for the past few years after a quick tour of the apartment. There’s a hidden language in the chosen arrangement of beds, tables, and chairs that tells a story. I know people who take it even further. Allison used to have her walls covered with posters and clippings, and the effect was amazing, as if a little slice of her soul had escaped from her body and had been projected onto the walls of her room.

Packing all of this into boxes halts the story, clams up the language. Ironically, the things most prized are always the hardest to move. Your fabulous bed becomes a heavy annoyance. The Buddhists see only the heavy weight of the object, only the suffering it will eventually cause. The Buddhists can see it like that because they have no interest in being a person. They want the stories of their lives to halt permanently. Alas, that’s not really an option for me, and hopefully won’t be an option until I’m, say, three hundred years old.

In any event, I’m moving. Internet access will be sporadic, and I may miss a few days on the site. Just a heads up.