And when I live in homes with adorned walls and filled shelves and a big collection of shoes and big piles of laundry, I imagine, perhaps quite wickedly, how their owners would feel if, one day, they woke up with nothing. No things to dust, no things to fix, no things to rearrange, no things to look reassuringly at, no things to remind them of the days gone by, no things to be proud of, no things to fret about. Would they feel reassured, too, that their things don’t own them?
