I’ve put things off for WAY too long. It’s time to get rid of about one third of my worldly possessions, and move the remainder within reach.
I have lots of stuff. I’m a Taurus, I can’t help it: I need physical possessions, especially things that make me feel safe, secure, and comfortable. Material uncertainty, even ambiguity, will slowly drive a Taurus mad. We Taureans like to HAVE and to HOLD. Come to think of it, marriage might have been invented by a Taurus, perhaps one with Venus in Scorpio.
Our things tell our story, for better or for worse. Today I look at my “story” and know it’s a big mess. “Hi, my name is Pinky I’m in limbo,” it says. “Much of what matters to me is out of reach in a money pit of a house I don’t live in. I have a ton of junk I won’t need since I’m gettting married but might need if I don’t, but I don’t like thinking about it, so it just sits there in the dark and damp, mouldering away.”
There is so much to read into that story, but for now I’ll just focus on the STUFF.
One does not need a hoarding disorder to have a complicated relationship with physical objects. In America, even people who have difficulty paying their bills have Too Much Stuff. Blame Credit Card Capitalism and a two-decades long national shopping binge. Americans have been trained by The Corporatocracy to associate consumer behavior with identity. “I shop therefore I am.” I’m no different than anyone else in this regard. Actually, I’m probably worse.
Identity-shopping WILL lead to wayyyyyyy too much stuff eventually, since we go through several life stages and/or frequently change our minds about who we want to be. Who are we, or more like, who do we want people to think we are? Athletic? We have gear. Tech savvy? We have gadgets. Cultured? We have books and wine cabinets and cigar boxes. “Good parents?” Cribs and carseats and toys and bikes and . . .
Bleah.
The solution is to get rid of the stuff when it no longer has a place in our lives, but too many of us have a problem letting go. We spent good money on it (so?). We might “need it” again (doubt it). It could be worth money someday (unlikely). For some of us, that quarterly haul to Goodwill is cathartic, but for the of us, our stuff only litters our lives and makes us unhappy.
Then, there is the hoarding. I definitely went through a hoarding phase during a particularly fearful and lonely part of my life.
Most hoarding behavior is anxiety-driven, fear being more deep-seated than guilt or regret. I can relate to this woman‘s struggle against hoarding. In fact, just to share, here’s where I store the paper goods. And that’s not all! I still have over 50 rolls of toilet paper stored at an unoccupied house 30 miles away. A house that’s still chock full of STUFF. While shopping I resist buying more because irrational anxieties notwithstanding, I know there will not be a Toilet Paper Apocalypse. At some point one just needs to say enough already.
Beth Shak admits her bad marriage fueled her shoe addiction
As a Taurus, I know that in addition to my need for physical security I have a weakness for luxury, especially luxury the form of material objects with staying power. I have good taste and for the most part do not regret the majority of my purchases. However, I can see the main categories in which I went overboard back in the day: Fancy shoes, clothes, alcohol, housewares and books. I didn’t need them; rather I was lonely, and I bought them to fill the emptiness inside. It’s a lot to haul around, and I still have the VISA bill, so technically I haven’t even paid for it all yet.
I’m not alone, though: I know people who claim to be immune to marketing, people who would never admit to questionable shopping/hoarding tendencies, yet who express frustration at their cluttered living conditions, thinking (erroneously) that they don’t have enough space. At least when I express my own frustration over Too Much Shit I know where the frustration comes from; i.e., a feeling of loss of control, of disregulation, of a life ruled by Fear instead of Love. We use STUFF to fill the Void.
Oh yummy BPA-lined cans. Shit.
For instance, I know my Apocalypse Pantry from 2007-2008 came from a place of Fear. Five years later its contents are 80% used up and I’m in no rush to replace them. I’ve lost that Doomer mindset and my prepping is more practical today, oriented more toward temporary weather conditions and supply shortages than TEOTWAWKI. There are folks much better prepped than I who still stockpile food and gear the way squirrels bury nuts. They may be unable to shake their sense of creeping doom, but I suspect it’s probably not due to their lack of material possessions but due to the Core Fear, i.e., a deep-seated (possibly genetic or medical) anxiety that would probably be better served by a dose of Zoloft, some magnesium and vitamin D supplements, a good book or movie, a big turkey dinner and a cuddle.
(NOTE: I no longer hoard canned goods, mostly due to the fact that they’re lined with bisphenol-A. What remains of my prepping hoard is mostly dried foods.)
When is “enough enough?” A good sign that it’s time to slow down is when you need a management system to look after it all. Unfortunately for my habits, on this point both Spooky and I agree: There is no such thing as too many books. Mine are even Dewey-Decimaled: The above photograph shows series 300 through 800. Series 100-300 are in Spooky’s library (which is bigger than mine), and the 900’s are in what will someday be the parlor.
Spooky and I are in the market for more bookshelves, including built-ins, so this is one area where I won’t be downsizing. Moving right along, I guess that means I need to take a look at . . .
HOUSEHOLD GOODS.
In addition to a life of accumulating and fear based hoarding there are the complications that arive from combining households. His Stuff + Her Stuff + Kids Stuff = Lots of Stuff.
For instance, between the two of us Spooky and I have enough dishes and drinkware to host a party of 50 or more. That hasn’t stopped us from acquiring more, but at least those purchases are driven by love instead of fear. So much adorable crockery, so little room to store it! We rotate sets just to keep things in play and interesting. At some point though, we’ll need to concede that we don’t need six sets of dishes, four sets of drinkware, four stereos, three CD players, and three ironing boards.
After a lifetime of working, mothering, collecting and . . . I admit it . . . hoarding . . . I’ve concluded it’s better to live the Curated Life. Maybe it’s a life stage thing, since I see many older people downsize their lives as they get close to retirement, especially after their children leave the house. I’m not ready to call myself “old” and I’m nowhere near retirement (unfortunately). I just think about it a lot.
“To curate” is a verb from L. curatus, pp. of curare “to take care of.” It means to oversee possessions, such as those of a parish or museum, but the word can be applied to how we manage our own lives. A curator does more than stand guard over a bunch of junk; s/he is required to know his/her subject deeply and arrange things in a way that intentionally tells a story.
An important part of curating involves eliminating what doesn’t fit the narrative. A museum curator might store or loan whole collections while telling a certain story. She will sell or donate items that don’t blend well with the narrative, and she’ll acquire only those objects that contribute to the narrative. I want to curate my own life in the same manner.
Love versus Fear is what I ponder while I putter around my other house, deciding what stays and what goes. I have not sold my house for a multitude of reasons, primarily the bad market and the fact that Spooky and I aren’t married yet. My house is my only real asset besides Bunny’s college savings. So long as the housing market favors buyers over sellers, my instinct is to hold on. The furnace and the water supply upstairs are turned off. Unfortunately this means the dampness has begun to effect what I’ve left there.
So . . . What am I keeping it all for? What’s with the magazines? Who needs that many dishes and glasswear? Why do I still have queen and twin sized sheets when I put the twin and queen mattresses out to bulk trash last August? Am I really saving my belongings for Bunny? Does she even want them? Am I too busy to deal with it all? If there is “no place” for it at Spooky’s house, why not get rid of it and take the tax deduction? What does it mean if I’m too frightened to do that? Am I afraid that the wedding will never happen? Am I afraid I’ll have to move back to my old house someday?
Those are uncomfortable questions, rooted in Fear. What would I do if I were motivated by Love instead? I’d just move everything I could to Spooky’s and dump the remainder at Goodwill, that’s what. Paying a higher gas bill to keep an unoccupied home heated and dried bothers me, because it would be cheaper, frankly, to rent a U-Haul. Avoiding this decision does not serve my interests, but forcing the decision brings an even bigger issue to a head: What’s the Master Plan?
No matter what the future brings, I need to ACT. Fortunately, during the last month or so it’s clear that I have acted. Two weeks ago I hauled many perfectly good objects to Goodwill, furniture and dishes and decor, because I knew we’d never use them at Spooky’s. Last weekend I rescued my books and some of my linens, which had begun to smell of mold. For days the books were splayed out in Spooky’s sunny Florida room to dry, and I broke down and bought a can of poison (Lysol) to spray their pages.
I still fear for mother’s Victorian silk sofa and chairs, still at my house sitting unused in the humidity. They need to come home, to my new home here at Spooky’s. The parlor awaits, empty 3 years and counting. After I pay Bunny’s spring tuition, I’ll need to save money for a major furniture haul. Moving Day is nigh . . . but first, the purge.
to be continued . . .