Why We Have Stuff and Letting It Go

Why do we hold onto stuff? No doubt there are a myriad of reasons.

You can’t imagine our ancient ancestors accumulating an excess of things and thinking it was a bad idea...

NUKNUK: Why Zug have dead mammoth in cave?

ZUG: So Zug no die of cold or hunger.

Other ancestors might have had more complex reasons…

DEIDRE: I say, why do we have a stately home full of thingy things Archie?

ARCHIE: Well, it shows people we are rich and have a higher ranking in society than them dearest.” (This dialogue of wealthy Georgians is obviously a gross fabrication. None of my ancestors would ever be called Archie. And there is no swearing)

Moving along….

In either case we can understand that in times of plenty you accumulate right?

But what if you lived in a state of perpetual abundance where possessions and staples  were extremely  affordable?

 Well, then you end up with a house full to the brim of things you can afford to buy, and probably quite a few you probably got on credit because it was a bargain, was gorgeous or did cool things. And you can afford to pay that money back. More or less.

Your neighbour is in the same boat and so is the woman across the road. And so on in every street and in every suburb, in every state etc etc  Every nook and cranny in our homes is filled with stuff.

Our collecting suggests a fear of the future, one like my grandparents experienced in the Second World War.

For now thank goodness, war cannot be reason to stockpile but we can and have replaced that fear with future economic concerns, future climate concerns, future epidemic concerns etc

But if any of these were truly our motivation then surely we would all be investing in canned food, water filters, candles, medical supplies. Perhaps even gold ingots and vegemite (valuable trade items).

Instead we are collecting hundreds of DVD’s, CD’s (come on have you still got vinyl and cassettes and videos too?);  we have wardrobes bursting fashionable clothes going ‘out of date’ and enough extra trinkets strewn about to open a home wares store in our lounge room, a beauty salon in our bathroom and a carpentry/mechanical workshop in our garage. Do we each individually need to own all that stuff?

What are we doing?

 Against the ‘shiny new’ we have little willpower. (We’ve been trained so well by advertising). I know- I am no stranger to this malady.

 In my case it’s often the shiny old, but that makes it barely better since I am supporting the trade of secondhand. I’m not saying secondhand is bad as such, I’m just saying if there was no place to get rid of your gear (because landfill was bursting at the seams as it would and will) then we might all put considerable more thought in what we buy.

And very little of what we own can be traded as being much value. I know; I’ve sold on Ebay, Gumtree and had 10 garage sales. 10. I know!

I couldn’t even get rid of some perfectly fine things on Freecycle. A friend told me in Germany the Freecycle people arrive, look over the offered free item carefully and often say “Mmm, nein danke.”

Over the years I have noticed garage sale attendee are less and less people with 'need' and are more heavily peopled with collectors, some private, some business.

 Charity stores in my area pick over items and only take it if it’s ‘unmarked’. They get enough donations to pick and choose. Some have told me they were “not currently collecting’ as their warehouses are overflowing. And I have had the gaul to get angry with them! How dare they not take the overflow of my stuff away and replace my guilt with a good Samaritan glow?!

 The huge piles of curb-side rubbish pile tell me we have way too much stuff. How else can we leave perfectly good, but often dated furniture out on the street awaiting the rubbish collectors- in the rain.

Seeing and hearing that stuff being crushed in the compactor really tears at me.  How can we destroy good things, filling our tips with good items when so many people around the world do have less than they need?

Okay, it’s global problem but I’m panning back to me now, to my home, to the place I can begin to shave our personal excesses with my own hands. The process, I have to say is rather like making a matchstick from a redwood tree. With a pocket knife. From my nephews toddler tool belt.

 

But I've got to start somewhere and it has to be with me and I'm ready to start...

Putting each one of hundred of piles of items under the microscope and considering its true importance to us is exhausting and painfully slow.

 Well, that’s what you get for moving in a house half the size of the last and with no garage or shed!

But if I really want to feel free, I need to stop carting around this growing pile of possessions. I need to look at each item in turn and consider its true value to me: that is- whether it is it really necessary or useful or brings me great joy. And I’m not assigning the ‘great joy’ label to every other object in my house just so I can justify keeping it. I’m talking about the few items that are the salt and pepper to our home, the pieces that reflect us and make our home different from other peoples because although I love the concepts of minimalism, I am also a creative soul.

 I want clear spaces but I want my home to feel cosy and welcoming.

What I have to figure out is how to do this with what we already own (where possible, and I have a generous imagination for possible:) and make sure we have a space for all we need with passage through our home possible without ducking, weaving and crawling on your belly.

It’s the kind of creative challenge I love, but I have no doubt there are going to be headaches (whether or not any are mine remain to be seen;)

For this huge overhaul a gypsy vardo is the perfect template. Things around the edge, a place for everything, plenty of colour…it’s not impossible is it? Did I mention the mountain of stuff I'm going to have to rehouse; forty years of do-dads and 'dunno where to put its'....Urgghhh!

It’s time to start whittling…

Letting Go...of Books

I have too many books.

This isn’t an admission; it’s a rainbow-of-printed-spines fact. No one who knows me would expect anything else: I love reading; I love writing; I have a diverse range of interests; I work in a book store (I love to overuse and misuse a semi-colon.)

So you can imagine my big fat bulging bookcases can’t you.

But this time I have too many books, literally. They simply will not fit in our new Little House.

With space a premium, I simply cannot justify using it all for my books. Some books are going to have to go.

 I know, I know; move house some might say.

I say this is an excellent exercise in jettisoning ballast. Books are for me an excellent example of something I have an emotional attachment to. It’s time to drop some sandbags...

Culling books is an interesting psychological experience. I know first hand from working in a bookshop that people have vastly different levels of attachment to books- from indifference and even distaste (no I can’t believe it either but its true) to ‘will not part from one book ever’.

I’d say I am two thirds along the scale toward bibliohorder.

I love books but I admit that in a fire I probably wouldn’t even think of them. There’s an admission! (Well, after I knew my family were safe I may shed a few tears over the loss of my personally signed Markus Zusak book;)

I have books dating all the way back to childhood. Even with many moves and garage sales, charity store donations and second-hand give-aways in between, I still have A LOT OF BOOKS.

Our new living room, sized approximately 4 1/2 by 4 1/2 metres has 4 Ikea bookcases standing round the edges and I decide that I can only justify half holding books. We need room for paperwork, art gear and loads of other bits and bobs that need a tidy home.

From the top of the first shelf I pick up the first book to consider rehousing. At this stage our books have been thrown on the shelf in a hodge-podge of 'do it later' mess so it doesn't matter where I begin.

As I hold this first slim volume, considering it's fate I am very aware of a pang in my solar plexus. I am fascinated with this reaction - the last I noticed it in a conscious way was when I was living in England, musing over my impending departure from a place that I loved very much.

At the time I realised my pain was attachment -a strong fear of separation. I wanted to hold on that place that held so many good feelings and memories for me.

At that time I decided to try changing my feeling consciously to one of enjoyment in my surrounds without clutching madly to it. I kinda breathed it in, then breathed, like I was a conduit, rather than a receptacle. It seemed to work. From that I was able to accept my leaving without too much pain and still enjoy my remaining time there.

I realised too that the good feelings were not outside, etched in the stones of England; they were in me. I could take them with me if I wanted.

 

So right now, what was I fearful of, in letting go of this book? I realised the book (Island of the Blue Dolphins by the way in case you are dying to know, ha ha) had a whole little box of memories attached to the reading of it: a wonderful evocative story, a great academic year of English in High School, the pleasure of seeing my son enjoy the same book. This slim paperback was a little time-capsule of memories and feelings. Would removing the book from my shelf take away any good feelings attached to it by me?

I thought about it for a while, all too conscious that there were hundred of other books each waiting their ‘trial’ of stay or go.

In the end I concluded ‘no’, I wouldn’t loose anything. Like living in England,  I HAD enjoyed the book, the story HAD subtly changed the younger me and short of travelling back in time and removing it from my life then, those things are now intrinsically a part of me- I had downloaded the essence of the book- I no longer needed the physical item. I could recall the beauty of the story whenever I wanted because it is now a part of me. Holding onto the book was surely as pointless as keeping the wrapper of a delicious chocolate because I wanted to retain the pleasure of eating it.

And if I did this holding on with every item I/we own, I will be dragging a chain of things behind me so heavy that I simply won't be unable to move forward with any ease. I will be forced to stay put and be content to only re-examine those things I am already carrying with me. I will stunt my ability to fully experience new joys and ideas.

Urgghh- what a terrible stagnant way to live! And it has to be the opposite to the freedom I am seeking. 

Of course not all the books I hold onto are from prior enjoyment. I discover firsthand what we already suspect- a bookshelf (or a CD shelf, movie shelf etc) is a physical catalogue of emotions, many of which boil down to the base element of fear.

Guilt is a big one. (“God, Nanna would never have thrown this out- she would have had a fit if she’d seen me do this.” {In some religious beliefs you may think Nanna CAN actually see you do this!}) Or Aunty Hilda who you loved and gave you a book though you didn't actually like the story. It's a bit of Aunty Hilda on your shelf.

Guilt could also be ‘could-haves”, “should-haves’ and ‘must-do’s’. This is certainly the feeling I experienced with other books on my shelves, particularly classics I feel I should read and non-fiction I think would better educate me. They are sitting there like waggling fingers admonishing me. “Na-talie…stop reading tra-ash.”

The funny thing is the ‘guilty’ books emit the same pang in my chest as the ‘emotional attachment books’. As I said, it confirms that it all boils down to fear of some sort and is perfect practice for the difficult-at-first art of letting go.

There will surely be books I chose to keep- references and signed books, books I get great pleasure from rereading, and a small selection made by my kids for them to keep to read to their kids. Oh, and plenty of books I haven’t yet read…(another admission!)

All in all I have quite a job ahead of me, going through 4 shelves, double packed, book by book and saying either ‘you can stay a time’ or ‘thank you… and goodbye’, putting those ones into boxes and sending them to the charity store to find a (temporary ideally!) connection with other people.

 I guess this is the power of a library- the shared pleasure- one found to be enjoyed, and then let go of in exchange for a new experience. That will be the motto above my cleaned out bookshelves- “Take a good deep draught and pass it on.”

 After all, there are a wealth of wonderful new stories out there for me to experience….
 

 

The Beginning of a Simple Home and Freedom

"Why do we have so much stuff?!"
We were staring into our Storage King containers, trying to reacquaint ourselves with all we had left behind fifteen months ago, when we had gone to live in England for just over a year.
This comment, said with trademark teen accusation and disdain came from our 17 year old Alex.
  17 year olds as you know, are the epicentre of all wisdom and knowledge on the planet, so of course I was quick to respond with an "It's just what goes into any modest three bedroom Sydney house. If anyone you knew packed up their whole house into boxes, this is exactly what it would look like."
From Alex's expression it was clear he was not to be put off by boring  facts and responded with- "Well, I've been living overseas for fourteen months and didn't miss anything in there." (Good, then you won't miss it when I chuck it out dear...)
We were staring at 70 square metres worth of stuff that had been squeezed with difficulty into a large moving truck- despite multiple garage sales, charity store donations, Ebay sales and garbage disposal.
"It's never going to fit," my husband Fil comments. He's referring to the2 bedroom granny flat we are about to move into that will be our home for a time unknown. Mind you he has said this five times already and I am getting fed up. We are always complaining about dragging around all this stuff, so I keep responding with a "Well, it's a great opportunity for us to lighten our possessions and live more simply isn't it?" But Fil wants it both ways- uncluttered space and freedom together with keeping stuff he has bought with hard-earned cash. And he's meets most of my ideas of an adventure with fear and alarm- despite the fact they turn out well. Come on, they do. Mostly
We will just have to see. Looking at our possessions, I am uncomfortably aware that the reason we still had a mortgage was in part due to the things we kept spending money on. And, we don't even have all the fancy do-dads some people own or the finest furniture.
This is what I tell myself anyway. It justifies the spot that we find ourselves in right now.
It's a common phenomena that when people put their worldly possessions into storage for a year or more, they have trouble remembering what they actually own. Now I am looking at it all again as an outsider, I can see the trail of things bought as we renovated, as the boys grew from children into teens, as I went through fits of decorating or restoring old furniture. It's all there, more or less, looking at me saying "I deserve a spot in the new house don't I?"
After 8 hours of furniture moving and parting with $1100-, we are looking into our new home...with difficulty. Boxes are piled to the ceiling and spilling out of the door onto the tiny veranda and into the garden. We have no garage in the new place and barely any garden and the bedrooms are on the small side and the boys will have to share. Hmmm.
So why am I moving into somewhere that clearly does not fit us? Fil has been wondering the same thing for months.
Well, aside from family close by, reasonable rent and a brand new home, I think, short of our house burning down heaven forbid, this is the best opportunity we have had in our very average western lives, to jettison so many of the shackles we drag about with us and create a life of freedom and peace. (Play noble, emotive music here).We may not love the process, but the end result is something we all like the sound of. Freedom- it's not just an ironically named furniture store.
This is all a massive call I know, but I at least am up for the challenge.
 But what I'm really thinking is, can two working adults with different opinions and two teens who are not used to sharing a room or sacrificing much at all, live together in harmony in a little, simple house? Without killing each other, divorcing or writing each other out of our wills? (To Fil I leave thee the mop. It is used to clean a floor...)
Well, we are all about to find out...