The Art Of Saving Things or Why Are My Closets Full And My Life Empty?
Posted: Sunday, September 18, 2011
by Octavia Hansen
Octavia Hansen
I used to be a saver but now I am a minimalist. Here's the story:
I used to be a pack rat and everything that ever passed my way became "something for a rainy day." As did most, I learned this from my parents, both children of The Depression. No one today can imagine that era. Everything was dark, every day was just to be survived, the future was around a corner that no one found for more than ten years. Everything became precious -- buttons, thread, string, rubber bands, paper, things were rarely a matching set in dinnerware, flatware and especially clothing. Everything was saved and/or recycled. Hand-me-downs were the rule, not the exception, for every child and things were passed between families with the idea if they couldn't use it, that someone else would. Saving meant not starving.
The day of needing something, anything, never came but the closets, cabinets, shelves, attic and any space available was packed.
Then I got a job, a great job, where I needed to be closer to work. I was moving to a snappy address but less square footage. The realization came rudely when I was packing. If I took everything, there was no room for me. I had things waiting by the door, ready to move. There were literally crates, trunks, shoe boxes, hat boxes, recycled mailed boxes, gym bags, suitcases, rolled carpets, stacks of framed art, instrument cases and assorted mismatched furniture I had refinished, recovered and fit my every sitting, dining, lying and supported body needs.
My parents were not losing a daughter, they were gaining a sewing room, home office, den, the entire west wall of the garage, a patio storage shelter, three closets and an attic soon to be made over into an art studio. And this was my stuff. My parents had stuff of their own. I'll swear the house was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside considering what went in and the windows didn't pop out like a shaken carbonated beverage which shall go unnamed here.
Love me, love my stuff? Sorry, girlie, anything outside my immediate epidermis was considered expendable and they were not about to "keep my things just in case." Evidently, their 50+ years of prosperity and having a daughter dangerously close to a hoarder, they had already begun shedding material possessions in favor of elbow space. My moving looked like a full scale evacuation of New York City to Idaho -- this is NOT a test.
I did not have enough friends to help me move. There were not enough boxes. Even U-Haul flinched at the quantity and broke it to me as gently as they could, there is not a trailer to be attached to my vehicle that would carry my now boxed life. They did have the name and number of the company that dismantled, moved and re-assembled The London Bridge to Lake Havasu City in Arizona. I didn't need to travel that far, but a serious life possessions re-evaluation was in order.
I returned to my own Wal-Mart in a closet. Gotta go. Much as my stuff defined my life, my life was going to be reproduced in condensed form, not life size anymore.
As I began what I thought would be a painful experience, it actually became enlightening. Did I really need a menu from a date where the food was great but the guy was a jerk? Canceled bus tickets, torn movie stubs, cocktail napkin ideas and odd reminders became fodder for the recycle bin. I'm sure there was a logical explanation for keeping this flotsam and jetsam but it had since slipped away in the outgoing tide of life. Ah, I feel myself floating.
Yes, I made the big move, and many moves since. With my acquisition of a digital camera and a scanner, paper is almost a thing of the past, my load is much lighter and I can find what I need when I need it. Not being able to find something is the same as not having it. Organization, and not acquisition, is the key to life.
The lessons learned during and after this exodus:
If something is perfect for someone -- give it to them! What are you waiting for?
If something is unusable by you but still in good condition, give it to charity.
If you have had something for a year (this especially applies to clothes) and haven't used it, and there is nothing in the future where you think you can use it -- get rid of it. Give it away or throw it out, and use the space for something you do have. One entire change of seasons and it's still unused, should tell you it's outta there!
Recycle what you can -- give away books, shred important documents after making copies, separate cans from bottles from paper.
When something is broken, and it's so old that fixing it is expensive, and technology is so much better now, throw it away.
Travel light. Travel fast. Things can be replaced and life is waiting. Don't pack too much, you won't have room for anything new.
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Top-level comments on this article: (1 total)Awsome article Octavia.
Love the style of writing used here.
Lightweight writing with a floating feel to it to express the heaviness of
possessions not needed, the burden of physical things can weight upon
our delicate shoulders leading us away from actual living.
It's funny how we overfocus on possessions and time instead of living experiences.
Time is an illusion when it's spent watching the clock.
Possessions can fool us when they are desired for closets.
Kellie
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