My home is located where the eye of Hurricane Katrina, the most destructive hurricane in U.S. history, passed on Aug. 29, 2005. On this date, while my family was safely hunkered down in a motel, the devastating storm rushed ashore with a surge that could never have been fully predicted. This storm took with it many lives and many livelihoods. It also took with it a whole bunch of our stuff.

Before the storm, stuff had real value to me. I loved having shelves and shelves of hardcover books. I loved novels, and anthologies of great old writers and big art books that were perfect for angling the right way on the coffee table. I also loved that coffee table! I prized the furniture that I had carefully selected, and the color-coordinated paintings that hung on the walls. I used to yell at the kids if they put their tennis shoes up on the sofa, or if they accidentally dropped Kool-Aid in the kitchen grout. I would get upset if they messed with my stuff. I loved stuff!

But something happened on the morning after the storm. My VIV Moment came in a flash when I peeped through our window. What I saw, as I waited for my husband to get the kids out of their car seats and open the front door, brought me to my knees: our stuff, every bit of it, strewn, toppled, shattered or waterlogged.

Since we were among the first to return to the neighborhood after the storm, we hadn’t realized the extent of the damage; we hadn’t even realized that the waters had risen inside our walls. We thought our street would be safe, since it sat almost 20 feet above sea level. But when I peeked through that skinny sidelight window next to our front door, my beliefs about the extreme prestige our society places on the ownership of things came crashing down.

My new attitude was captured in an editorial cartoon that ran in a local magazine some time after the storm. The first frame of the comic depicts a man, saying something along the lines of: “The storm got our car, our house, and all of our belongings … ” In the next frame, we see him holding his loved ones, and the sentence is completed: “ … but it didn’t get anything important.” It really stuck with me because it accurately described my instant recognition of what really matters in life.

There is something about unexpectedly losing so much in one fell swoop that can really put the endless hours of mall shopping and tending to precious belongings into perspective. I understood in that moment that it is not the material things that will bring us happiness, but the stuff of our spirits. That is what we should tend to. That is where we will find the real prestige.

I now carry with me the feeling that we are not here to acquire, but to nourish our inner lives. I think about it every day, to this day. I am not implying that there is something wrong with having nice things. In fact, in recent years I have begun designing and selling handcrafted jewelry, so I am actually actively participating in the business of stuff. Don’t get me wrong; we all need our treats, but now I would never consider placing them ahead of people, or the needs of my own inner life. I would never make the same kind of stink about tennis shoes on the couch, or spills in the grout. What’s more, I would never, ever, want to own any kind of mansion.

In addition to designing jewelry, I have consciously balanced that interest in the material with a focus on that which is not so tangible. I spend a great amount of time writing, and have met with some success (I even recently read something I wrote for NPR radio!). But the goal of writing is not a material one (good thing, because very few people get wealthy writing essays and poetry). The goal is to feed that inner need to express myself — and to possibly touch someone else in the process.

I decided in that moment of Aug. 29, 2005, when I looked in horror through that window at our wet piano lying on its side, that I would change what I value. And now I know this simple fact: I will never, ever be afraid to peep through any window. The only window that matters is the one that frames our own carefully tended inner lives.