I’ve never seen a hearse followed by a Uhaul or a Brinks truck. You can’t take it with you. As I look around my house I see all of this stuff. Years of purchases, gifts and hand me downs taking up valuable space in my soul.
The acquisition of stuff is an American pastime. Entire television shows have been made about people who collect massive amounts of stuff. American Pickers is a great example of a company that makes its living scouring the American countryside in search of stuff to resell.
The show takes two pickers of American artifacts around the country in a big van. Mike and Frank search around for obscure collections of stuff with the hopes to find treasures amongst other people’s trash.
As a made for TV reality show my guess it’s marginally real and many of the deals are predetermined however the point of the show is the thrill of the treasure hunt. Mike and Frank uncertain what goodies they will find in other people’s stuff.
Most often we see the team driving down the road building up the excitement for the days pick. They will pull up to an unassuming house or barn and after brief introductions, we head into the collector barn, garage, cellar or bunker to reveal most often a Hoarders Dream.
Hoarders Delight
The parallel show to American Pickers is A&E show Hoarders that highlights the disease of hoarding. In this reality TV show, we visit a similar demographic of diseased individuals that may collect Americana or items of some monetary or sentimental value but more often than not are collecting trash.
Hoarders often surround themselves with items they feel are of great importance and will pile and live amongst their collectibles often at the expense of their well-being.
It isn’t uncommon to see a hoarder’s home filled with what we commonly would call trash or recyclables piled often to the ceiling. When people on the show attempt to intervene in the lives of the hoarders removing the “collectibles” often is at the dismay of the hoarder.
I’m Not A Hoarder….Yet
What is all this shit? I’ll ask myself quite frequently. I’m certainly a collector of stuff, primarily musical and film equipment, movies, records and books, tools and clothing.
I mostly wear the same 10–15 articles of clothing over and over again. My wife will take shirts I overwear and hide them in the back of the closet with hopes I’ll wear some of the other crap I have. Nope, I’m an emotional person and I like to wear the things I feel most comfortable in and therefore the infinite loop continues.
Two years ago I had to clean out my parents New Jersey home and pack 70 years of shit onto a moving truck headed to Florida. They were “downsizing” as we filled a 55-foot tractor-trailer worth of shit. Things they no longer felt fit into their lifestyle was donated or inherited by my family and friends. Truckloads of shit were regifted and donated over the months leading up to the sale.
My Jeep Wrangler was filled weekly with precious heirlooms I’d drag home and attempt to find a space for. Fearing the wrath of God if I didn’t keep all the precious treasures.
Once down in Florida we unloaded entirely too much content into the newly built spacious retirement home. I saw the looks of dismay on my parent’s faces as we tried to find room to neatly put away all the crap. It was a perfect exercise of how to fit 10 pounds of shit in a 5-pound box. You can’t.
Cluttered and disorganized was the immediate feeling as precious heirlooms were sequestered into the oversized two-car garage. My Mother made every attempt to surrounded my dying Father with his worldly possessions.
He died only a few short weeks later, inside his own prison of crap. Without much thought, we collected many of his items and began to donated, regift and discard carfuls of crap.
Some items were of sentimental value so I would bring an empty suitcase to Florida and return with it full, building my own prison of crap.
Mindfully Dehoarding
I began to question life and our time on this planet. Is collecting and not using items away we falsely extend our inevitable mortality? Possibly.
As I look around at my collected existence I look at each item in a mindful moment. Why do I possess this item? Does it make me whole and complete? Is it a book that changed my life or a tool I can’t live without, or am I just fooling myself surrounded by instruments I don’t play or films I’ll never watch?
Is the passing on of items we possess a purifying cleansing or will I suffer from detachment?
Yesterday I sold off a piece of equipment I’d been storing for 10 years. One day I would hook it back up, play with it and write the most transcending song.
As I realize I’m lying to myself hiding behind the safety and comfort knowing these items are at my disposal anytime, the sense of immediacy and urgency is lifted. These items become anchors that darken our days and suck the creative spark of the spontaneity out of our souls.
Zen And The Art Of Letting Go
It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. My quest for cleansing and purification starts with self-assessment as I’ll place my belonging before myself in their day of reckoning. Shall they stay or go? The release of their burden certain to heal, while the decision to keep the items shall force their use.
The answers to the quest shall become clear as I believe the removal of clutter will fine-tune my body and mind as I prepare for my next adventures. Cameras will shoot images, books will be read and songs shall be sung.
My body of work will become more purposeful and enlightening. My future shall not be unshadowed by the cloud of clutter and my money not wasted on holiday kitsch. Every item in my personal space must be purposeful and I must be complete.
