Downsizing is downright difficult. I’m not sure how I’ve managed to accumulate so much stuff over the years but it’s got to go if I’m to embrace this ‘living simply’ creed of sustainability.
Downsizing is downright difficult.
I’m not sure how I’ve managed to accumulate so much stuff over the years but it’s got to go if I’m to embrace this ‘living simply’ creed of sustainability.
Why do I have a 2003 AP “Stylebook” on the shelf when I have another version in the closet and a newer copy on my desk? (Some may ask why have one at all; suffice it so say those pages are sacred to most journalists.)
Why keep old pairs of running shoes, hiking boots and broken slippahs in the garage when their replacements are sitting right outside the front door? (Mental note: Recycle used footwear next week.)
The trick is letting go. Sometimes we hold onto things we just don’t need anymore. It doesn’t mean the run wasn’t worthwhile now that it’s over. You just have to recognize when it’s at its end, like Eminem says.
My eclectic music collection, which provides a random dose of daily advice, is one of a few things I feel fairly confident could never undergo any form of house cleaning. Some of my favorite albums and songs now are ones I nearly tossed a decade ago. Rediscovering the sweetness of Snow’s “Informer,” Nate Dogg’s “Regulate” and Counting Crows’ “Catapult” are among some of the guilty pleasures. Oh, nostalgia.
Aside from most of my books, the other thing I doubt I could do without are my movies. Some films are instant re-watchable classics, like “Godfather,” “Big Lebowski” and “Where the Buffalo Roam.” But you just never know when you’re going to need to see flicks like “Prozac Nation,” “Best in Show” or “25th Hour” again at a moment’s notice. Better to stash those in a safe spot for future viewing.
If I can limit my attachments to this, simplifying my life may be easier than I thought. But then I’ll start sifting through a stack of old magazines, setting several aside because there’s some articles in there I swear I need to read before recycling them.
Piles of stuff here, mounds of stuff there, next thing you know you’re walled in. Your stuff starts to own you. You can’t get out. Each passing day only makes it harder to change these tired habits.
And so it goes. The time has come to unshackle myself from my things. Call it an emancipation from a consumer nation.
Devoting more funds, space and energy to collecting experiences — whether a dawn surf session or a sunset beach bonfire — seems the wiser road for me to travel. Sometimes it’s the non-tangibles that last the longest.
