"When my parents died, they left the five of us kids a beautiful cabin high up in the mountains. Sharing it has been a fascinating experience. At first, it was a first- come, first-served kind of reservation system. But then one of my sisters complained that she hardly ever used it and that my two brothers used it all the time, so when she did want to use it, there should be some way to account for that. Then, of course, there were the cleaning and repairing issues: someone would break something and not replace it, and then there would be a tracking down of the wrongdoer by a resentful sibling forced to rectify the situation on his or her vacation time.
I guess I was surprised at how difficult it was to share even with your own family. At times, things have gotten strained enough that we tentatively began talking about whether we should sell the cabin. But last winter we all got together—the first time since our parents died—and at some point ended up talking about the cabin, about how beautiful the morning light was coming in the window over the sink, about how every time any of us went there we could always feel the comforting presence of our parents. We decided that the cabin was something we wanted to share, no matter how difficult it got sometimes, just as we had shared our parents for so many years.
Sharing provides many opportunities to learn about ourselves and our capacity for kindness. It allows us to offer our resources to others and to be aided in return, and to see how possessive, self-righteous, or uncooperative we might be. Sharing also is a way for us to treat the world more gently, by avoiding the mindless accumulation of material things. Despite the insistence of well-crafted commercials, we do not all need the latest toys. One lawn mower can service many lawns; one cabin can shelter many families. When we choose to share something, we stretch our souls —at least a little.
