Down-sizing and the Problem of Stuff

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.

Yesterday, I quit my job.

I have committed what is surely an act of utter madness in our culture: I walked away from a job that paid reasonably well and that had a remarkable level of security. Until today, I was a tenured Associate Professor at a university. I had wonderful students and a beautiful office, benefits, retirement--everything I'm supposed to value. When my work situation was no longer bearable to me, I negotiated my resignation over the course of several days and now find myself on day one of an entirely new life. This is, frankly, terrifying. It is possibly insane. It is certainly risky.

My book project has languished while I busied myself with making enough money to pay for a three-bedroom house on 3/4 acre of land. Of course, the house must be furnished, power bills paid, cable payments for the television and internet. Electronics must be bought that are up to date so that we can make use of that high-speed cable connection we're paying for. My husband and I must buy and maintain professional wardrobes. The car and lawnmower need gas. To make more time for the book project, we hired a cleaning woman to come in every other week. Still the book project languished--the book about how contemporary American culture is toxically inauthentic.

And now I realize why those whose minds I admire lived their lives in profound simplicity, why members of my church join orders that demand vows of poverty. I've read the philosophy, taught the classes, but that's not enough. It's not enough to know about Socrates, Christ, and Gandhi. It's not enough to believe in their wisdom. I have always known that I consume more resources than are my due in a world where hunger and poverty are the experience of most people. I have always believed this is wrong. Still, I live in a time and place that allows me to consider this acceptable. Why flout a system that's working for me? One reason nags at me: inauthenticity is the price for a life of privilege. Authenticity is only possible when our relationship to the material world is properly aligned with our values. If I put a picture of Christ or Gandhi on my wall but do not ask myself if my relationship to that wall is in keeping with the values that made me hang that picture, my life is not authentic. If how I spend my time and money is not in keeping with what I believe is important in life, my life is meaningless.

A life without meaning is terrifying. I have watched my students for 19 years struggle with this terror as they complete their studies. Increasingly, they graduate with a student loan debt that makes contemplation of meaningful work feel like selfishness to them. They begin their adult lives already enslaved to a system about which many have grave doubts. It's a good generation coming up now. They care about sustainability, even if their parents don't quite know what that is. They value human relationships more than technological advancement. They have ernest souls--more so than my own generation. I am writing this blog for them, as I am writing my book for them. They want to live authentic lives. I want to use my life to encourage them in this.

All of that high-minded talk is easy. Actually doing this will be difficult. I will have to down-size my life just to survive now. My mother and I will consolidate our households. My husband will be the bread-winner for our household. This is a burden on both of them. They claim they take it on willingly because they believe in what I feel I must write.

I am doing what I have always dreamed of doing and it will involve flouting my culture's economic values. The only reward for this will be my peace of mind.