Walking through some of my stuff leaves me feeling a bit confused. I resolutely asserted yesterday that I want to simplify my life and live authentically but putting that into practice is disorienting. Which of these things are to keep, which to let go?
There's an increasingly popular program on TLC: Hoarders Buried Alive. It's compelling viewing and I've been thinking about this particular psychological problem's relationship to our consumer culture. I'm found of saying that it isn't a wonder hoarding happens, it's a wonder everyone doesn't do it. Everything on the television assures us that a shopping trip can solve everything--everything, including loneliness. So our things stand in for what we can't control in our lives: people we love, good times we miss. Watching this TV show is most fascinating when the person doing the hoarding talks about why s/he wants to keep each individual object. It's a soliloquy of madness: this broken plastic hanger might be repairable, someone may have a use for it, it could be recycled, etc. The piles of junk aren't these people's problem, it's the individual pieces of junk that they can't get past. So, when I watch the video of myself above, I realize I'm sounding a lot like the people on that TV show. The things in my living room aren't technically junk, but they are largely useless. When I combine my household with my mother's in a smaller house, I cannot cling to things like books I like because they are pretty or because I enjoyed reading them once upon a time. This isn't medieval Ireland. I don't need to keep a library of books to protect the content from being lost to civilization. What's in those books that's not on the internet or available through a public library?
But I have been relatively good about keeping needless clutter out of my house. The real test will be when I'm at my mother's house this evening and must make space there. A corner of that basement is occupied by my old things. My friend gave me this object, so it stands in for her. How can I get rid of it? It would be like throwing my friend away. This belonged to my grandmother. She held it in her hand. Now when I hold it in my hand it's like I'm touching her again. And as I write that line about my grandmother, my eyes well up. It's emotional. But this is disordered thinking. It's not right. The objects are not the people. Clinging to the things won't bring back the love of the people. It's time to cut loose from things and stuff. It is a strange experience.
6 comments:
I admire what you are trying to do, although I confess I am not drawn to follow your noble example. I have used my collection of books, of CDs, of DVDs as substitutes for human companionship and bulwarks against loneliness; I cannot imagine simplifying. But I wish you well and hope you find happiness as well as a book in all this.
I admire what you're doing too, Bridget. I think you're incredibly brave to follow your heart. Unfortunately, this world doesn't make it easy for us to do that! Which just makes what you're doing twice as brave and admirable.
I just wanted to play devil's advocate for a minute. My eyes also welled up when I read this line:
"This belonged to my grandmother. She held it in her hand. Now when I hold it in my hand it's like I'm touching her again"
Now, I definitely agree with you that American consumer culture keeps us enslaved to our possessions in an unhealthy way. But holding onto a keepsake that reminds you of someone you love does not an indentured servant make. I'd like to suggest that there are levels to the "needlessness" of our clutter, and that to make the process less gut-wrenching for you, you could perhaps weed out the top few layers of needless without denying yourself object-related emotions and memories entirely.
While certain tangible goods do tend to emotionally represent intangible things -- a car for power or money, ski equipment for upward mobility and the privilege of leisure, etc -- and while overall, this sort of emphasis on materialism is, as you say, "disordered thinking," I would actually argue that physical mementos of loved ones work to combat, not reinforce, the depravity of consumerism.
Why? Well, the emotion that wells up your tears at the thought of that keepsake is not the false emotion manufactured by cutthroat corporations that comes with, say, a Precious Moments bauble.
It's coming from you, and your memories of your grandmother. Yes, it's still an object, but the emotion that makes it valuable to you is not the sort of thing you can mass-produce. It's unique to you and your mind, and every time the object facilitates the release of memories and feelings, it ceases to be yet another disposable object and in stead becomes a relic, a holy vessel. No, it's not your grandmother herself, but neither is it wrong or disordered to want to hang onto objects invested with such deep, personal significance. And it's not like you saw a commercial for "Grandma Stuff" and rushed out to buy, buy, buy more stuff to achieve that meaning. Shouldn't there, couldn't there be levels of down-sizing?
Perhaps you can find for us all a middle ground between being enslaved to stuff and not allowing stuff to hold any meaning.
- Mary Ellen I
(maryiatrop@gmail.com)
I have to agree with Mary Ellen. I realize that I'm a deeply sentimental person who probably hangs on to more "mementos" than neccessary, but I don't think my grandmother's favorite coffe mug qualifies as junk. My twenty other mugs that I never use, yes. In order to preserve sanity I would think there would have to be a line drawn between what is truly useless and should be thrown out and what is important enough to be preserved as an heirloom.
I am proud of you. A few times a year, I go absolutely nuts and throw out trashbags full of STUFF. Not dinky little kitchen bags, but the big, black numbers that you can barely pick up off the floor once they're full. It's sad that I let the cycle happen again and again, constantly acquiring more STUFF and piling it on top of other STUFF until I snap and throw half of what I own away in a fit of disgust and self-loathing. The real trick is to never let it get to that psychotic, freak-your-husband-out purging point in the first place.
I remember when I first moved to Tahlequah -- I was single, free to do what I wanted, and never really knew when I would have to pack up and move to a new place. I didn't own anything that I couldn't fit in my car in a last minute move. That was my rule - if it didn't fit, I didn't need it. Now, four years later, I am married and living a stable lifestyle with my husband and dog. There is no way in hell we could fit all our STUFF in both our cars, let alone just mine. We are weighed down with STUFF, completely stuck next to the objects that have come to define us - our house, or furniture, our art. If we had to pack up and move, would we feel like we left our lives behind? Or would we realize that these things are just trappings? I shudder to think the answer, so I'll ignore it for now.
I look forward to reading everything you have to say, and learning from your good example. :)
Patrick, that makes me feel so sad!
Neely, thanks for confirming for me that this is an issue for a lot of people. Believing as I do about STUFF, I feel a calling to write about this issue because there just isn't a voice speaking against the damn STUFF. I am wondering though whether anyone wants to read the books I want to write. Is the urge to "ignore it for now" such that no one will read me?
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