500

 Freedom from stuff and rejections

I spontaneously took a picture of my two shelves in our home for this autoethnography. I felt overwhelming joy and a deep sense of wellbeing when I saw them once again in the morning. It is so interesting to think that this same sight would cause very different emotions in different people. I thought about my family members who would find it heartbreaking. 

The feeling of wellbeing is so deep that I cannot imagine living with more. 

There are all my clothing items (apart from what I was wearing and what was in the laundry when I took the picture), documents, a cotton tote bag, medicine, scissors, my ring, a notebook, and two remaining copies of my book. To the left, there are my partner's shirts and my one remaining linen shirt. On the top shelf that is not mine is a spare duvet that our guests can use. 

The tote bag that I use often (and my partner uses at times), if not every day, is in the living room. 

As I was walking through our tiny apartment, I felt so free from stuff and consumerism. This beautiful feeling, a permission to step away from perpetually and restlessly chasing something, offset a feeling of sadness that I got when my partner told me about the research council refusing to fund our project. In my experience, fellow humans in academia (at least in the spaces that I dwell) don't talk much about rejections. They talk about successes, but much less so about the projects that don't get funded. Doing autoethnography, I feel, helps me be honest and authentic about various unfoldings in life. Not getting funding for a research project we would love to do certainly causes sorrow, but I don't experience it as something bad. Experiencing much spiritual growth in the past few years made me see more clearly how my academic work is not my career. My career is being the best human being I can be. Receiving funding would be very helpful but not getting it is not nearly as bad as not being something that I want to manifest in the world (being kind, empathetic, compassionate, honest). In other words, I would be very worried if I observed myself manifesting competitiveness, jealousy, envy. If I was exploitative, utilitarian, unempathetic. 

Earlier in my academic career, I would check my citations often to see if my fellow humans were engaging with my work. These days, I check them so much less. But every day, I check in with myself. I have deep inner dialogues, to see if I'm on the path of growth. 

499

 Bathroom

As I was growing up, I was observing my mother's and grandmother's collection of skin, body and hair "care" items grow. Their bathroom shelves were full of objects. As a child, I was fascinated by all those potions. But then I began to wonder, would I need all this, too? Is it so that as you grow older, you acquire/use/need more? The message of the so-called "beauty" industry is, yes. You need all this and more, and newer things every year, if not every month. At times, my mother and grandmother would buy various creams and other items for me as gifts or simply to try. 

I am grateful for my autoimmune skin condition. Though it has caused much suffering and discomfort, it also encouraged me to think about my relationship with objects and products. With textiles, perfumes, skin care items. Creams that claimed to be good for me would sting my skin at best, and cause a long-lasting reaction at worst. Early in my life I realised that using less was better for me. It felt liberating. As if I got permission to not use all those creams and other items. Ever. 

In my adulthood, every now and then I would use some natural skin, body and hair care items. These days, in my bathroom my partner and I have only the following: refillable soap, toothbrushes and toothpaste, shampoo, a small jar of vaseline, deodorant, and laundry sheets. We share all these items, apart from toothbrushes. I don't use shampoo every day. I wash my face and body with water most of the time. I used to invite natural oils into my life instead of petroleum jelly, but I've noticed that petroleum jelly lasts longer. It doesn't ever seem to go bad.