Sometime I hoard things like a squirrel. In fact, if I were a squirrel, I would have the most nuts.
I save plastic bags.
I save hangers.
I save razor blades until the one on my razor shreds my face.
I save water filters for the coffee maker until the coffee tastes like battery acid.
I save nice bottles of wine for special occasions for so long that I forget what the occasions might be.
I save clothes that I will never wear.
And shit that I will never use.
I want to save less. And spend more.
I want a generous heart.
Not long ago, we stood talking to a stranger in a parking lot. Ann and he had been discussing tea. He had a teapot in his truck, an electric one, the kind that you can only get in the U.K. Ann admired it. He gave it to her. “Take it,” he said. “Enjoy it.”
It wouldn’t have occurred to me to give away my teapot, especially if it had been one that had been hard to come by. It never would have even crossed my mind. Maybe I’d have given up the web address. But I’d be thinking: “Good luck, all the best finding a teapot this good, sweetheart.”
One day last summer, we stood on the street in a far away town with our heavy bags stacked around us. There was a drizzle just steady enough to annoy. We needed to catch the next train in half an hour. There was not a cab in sight.
Feeling a bit panicked, Ann crossed the road to the diner. She asked the woman behind the counter to use the phone to call a cab.
“Where do you need to go?” the waitress asked.
“The station,” Ann replied.
“There are no cabs,” the woman said. “Take my car.”
And handed Ann the keys.
Who does that? Who gives without thought, without worry, without regard? Who trusts that deeply in the goodness of humanity? Whose heart is that open?
Not mine. Not for others. Not even for myself.
Somewhere I internalized: save it; don’t spend it; don’t give it; don’t loan it; don’t lose it; you never know when you might need it; save it; save it for a rainy day. And OMG there is one bad-assed monsoon just waiting for me.
But when is this rainy day? Now is all we have.
Fear constrains.
But what if we trusted in the absolute abundance of the universe? What if we nurtured ourselves with this love? What if we gave to others as if there were no lack? What if we could know that when we emptied our hearts, they would always be filled to overflowing? Always.
When I was young, my mother taught: never pass a beggar by. In later years, I would perform all sorts of mental gymnastics about the need to avoid enabling bad behavior and the importance of “targeting” my giving to agencies that “take care of such things.” Only to be chastened by my teen one day who crossed a city street to drop the few coins from his pocket into the outstretched hands of a blind man.
A spiritual mentor of mine would say: give to everyone. That way you don’t miss the ones who truly need it.
The mystic, the warrior, burns with such love, such zeal that there is nothing left. The flame burns so brightly – like a shooting star across the night sky. Better to light the darkness in one splendid, glorious display of luminescence than to grope in the shadows with a match.
It is in the giving that we receive.
Spend it. Spend it all on the field.
Spend it without measure.
Play full out.
Hold nothing back.
Walk in faith and not in fear.
Faith that all will be well. Faith that all is well.
Nuts grow on trees. There are enough to go around. 
Beautifully done message. P.S. Yesterday, Mia lowered the count of north country red squirrels.