The Stuff of Life
I’ve heard it said that two of life’s most difficult experiences are moving and childbirth. Having experienced both myself, I do believe this could be true. I have moved many, many times- though only given birth once- and just this year I moved across country. I also helped two friends pack their homes and families for major moves, and I just watched one of my favorite holiday movies Millions, in which moving from old to new home is a major plot point. The trajectory of 2021 for my family will involve at least two more moves, maybe three. So moving has been on my mind lately, as you might imagine. There are things I want to do differently and better next time.
But the truth is, thinking ahead about a move and making a plan and a checklist- and doing the darndest to execute a plan and check off a list- doesn’t really help to ease how difficult it is to actually move. This is because plans and lists don’t address the biggest part of moving: the actual stuff. What to do about the stuff, my stuff, all the stuff of life?
Some humans are minimalists, finding satisfaction in having less of everything, declaring that less stuff gives them more time and better quality of life, and I don’t doubt that’s true. I spend a lot of my time managing my stuff. If I took a minimalist approach with my belongings, my time could be spent doing other things- including one thing I most want to focus on: creativity.
But, my dilemma: I’m quite sentimental and I love my stuff and I relate better with the maximalist crowd in the room. So, along with the stuff of life my life contains (the toothbrushes and shoes, the books and piles of magazines, the kitchen knives and coffee mugs…) my life also contains a ski sweater once belonging to my dad (creamy white and soft as cashmere- though it is not- with a charcoal gray snowflake motif across the chest) and a teapot and matching butter dish once belonging to my great-grandmother (ironically, it’s also creamy white and gray, a transfer ware pattern I’m always on the lookout for, but have never seen for sale. The pieces came from England, so maybe when I’m able to go there again I’ll start looking to add to the collection.
I know someone who has a household of seven people (including three-generations) and they have seven plates, seven bowls, and seven forks. They have seven towels, and only as many sets of sheets as beds. She says she can think more clearly with less stuff especially because there are a lot of people and needs in her home, and I absolutely don’t doubt that’s true. Sometimes the amount of thought and energy required to simply use my stuff distracts me from the essential: in the morning I need to get rolling quickly and get things done, yet I spend several moments each day simply deciding which mug to use for my morning tea. Under consideration: What’s my mood, what’s the weather or the season? What do I want to project or manifest today and can my mug help me achieve this? Maybe other humans aren’t as strange as me in such deliberation, but I can also say having just one mug and no choice would bore me to tears.
I’m currently living in my childhood home and there are at least four sets of sheets for every bed. There are flannel for winter, percale for summer, and a couple of novelty prints in between. They make for cozy beds and joyful bedrooms, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. But the sheets take up a huge amount of space in a closet, and they have to be folded, and they definitely are wearing and I wonder about getting new. They were sheets my mom bought and loved, and they evoke emotion every time I stretch them across the corners of a mattress while making the beds. Would I want to sacrifice that whiff of memory for just one set of sheets, or even two? For me, it’s unlikely.
There’s a new film out by the Minimalist duo of the podcast and books, Ryan Nicodemus and Joshua Fields Milburn. I watched it this week and immediately thought: I could play their 30 day game. Certainly there are enough tchotchkes lying around at the start of the new year that I can make a dent in the stuff without immediately having to address sentimentality and attachment. Though it certainly needs to be addressed, if I want an easier time of moving it two or three times this year.
Thus you see my conundrum with the stuff of life. When in a few months time I have to move a lot of it again, as I said, I want to do different and better than the last time, and this requires addressing my love of stuff and the amount of it I have. Not an easy task for a sentimental old gal like me. I try to keep in mind a motto I adopted years ago- which has more to do with not spending a lot of money on my stuff (hence the reusing, the thrifting) and less to do with the actual amount of stuff I have: Seek to DO things rather than HAVE things. The Minimalists add to that “Use things, not people.” There are a lot of ideas and wisdom out there for the pursuit of having less stuff, and/or having stuff that is more meaningful. What are your best practices?
