Well, it’s 9:15 in the evening, I’ve already showered and had supper, and here I sit writing. This almost never happens. Usually it’s another couple hours before I even begin to blog. However, I’ve been up and going all day, and I imagine I’ll be up early tomorrow, so either this happens now, or I won’t happen later.

The reason for all this up-at-the-crack-of-dawn bullshit is that I started house sitting for a friend today–a friend who has three dogs who are used to waking up early and–quite frankly–running the show. Which means they’ll be running me for the next few days. Now, other than the fact that they’re early birds (early dogs), they’re quite lovely. Currently two of them are passed out on the floor nearby, and I don’t know where the third one is. She’s anti-social.

A few days ago one of the dogs apparently caught a stomach bug and got sick at both ends (I know, it’s the worst), so not only do I have to watch where I step, but I also have to shoot two different liquid medications into her mouth twice a day. Y’all, it’s like one of those carnivals games, trying to hit the bullseye. Yesterday my friend showed me how to pinch the dog’s mouth then as-fast-as-you-can squirt the liquid between her teeth with a plastic syringe. “Do you think you can do it?” he said.

“Please,” I countered, “I’ve given an inhaler to a cat. This is child’s play.”

Thankfully, my bravado turned out to be true. This evening I got both medications into the dog’s sweet little mouth without incident. Well, she did spit out a few little drops, but the majority of it went down her throat, which is good enough for me.

One of the interesting things about staying in other people’s homes is that you get to see how they live. What I mean is that everyone–everyone!–lives differently (and I’m convinced there’s no right or wrong). Some people, honestly, are slobs. Like, they have slime on the dishes in their sink. (Ick.) Other people (including most of the ones I work for) are neat freaks. Everything has its place. And yet how one tidy person organizes their kitchen is always totally different from how another one does. Ugh, I can’t tell you how much time I’ve spent over the years looking for spatulas, paper towels, and hand soap. Tonight I opened every cabinet twice looking for honey. Finally, I gave up. Just when you think someone is sophisticated!

Oh well, at least they have Southern Comfort.

Recently I saw my therapist, and our plan was to discuss a creative project I’ve been working on. And whereas she’d just suggested kicking some ideas around, I showed up with an outline, visual aids, and a rehearsed speech. “This was more than I was expecting,” she said.

“Well, I’m a control freak,” I said.

“Let’s say you’re a consummate professional,” she offered.

Lately I’ve been discussing changing patterns of thought and behavior, and this story is an example of what I mean. I’ll explain. For the longest time, I really have been a control freak, at least when it comes to me and my projects. If nothing else, I’ve been a perfectionist. Now, I could go the rest of my life rocking out these archetypes–and we all know people who do–or I could let them fizzle out and step into another, more mature archetype–the consummate professional, a pattern that simply demands I’m as in control and perfect (or detail-oriented) as the situation calls for.

How does all this relate to house sitting?

I’m glad you asked.

Even before I had my estate sale and parted with most of my worldly possessions, I had a number of yard sales in which I let go of A LOT of stuff, stuff I liked. And whereas saying goodbye to all these things was tough, I don’t regret it now because material objects have very little influence over me anymore. That is, I can walk into anyone’s house–messy or immaculate–and not be overly turned off or turned on. It’s not that I don’t notice nice things, it’s simply that I see them for what they are–things. In terms of archetypes, you could say I’ve shifted from a somewhat hoarder (collector) to a minimalist.

Recently I helped a friend pick out a piece of furniture, and they said, “I don’t know if it’s ME.” Now, they were basically saying they didn’t know if it would fit in with the rest of their decor, and that was a valid question. At the same time, I think a lot of us think this way–we see our stuff as an extension of ourselves. This, honestly, is why most of us start panicking when we lose our phone. It’s like a piece of us has gone missing (because it has). But what I know from letting go of most of my stuff and from living in other people’s houses is that–without exception–you are not your stuff, and your stuff isn’t you. It may be an expression of you, but it’s not something worth attaching to. He who dies with the most toys does not win.