My Life. In Piles.
Without going into the sordid details, I’ll say this: my life is in transition. Just keep telling yourself that change is good and maybe you’ll believe it. Or perhaps, like me, you’ll just crack another Budweiser and pack up another box of your stuff.
The good part about major life change, whether it be a breakup, a death, a move: you get to really go through your stuff. All of it, because you physically have to touch it and deal with it. Your stuff DOES define you. I don’t care what any self help Dr. Phil wannabe says. If you don’t like what your stuff says about you, get different stuff. Sure, “you can’t take it with you” but it’s kinda fun to revisit those periods in your life that have somehow disappeared from your daily thought process.
I’ve been mentioning this kind of thing recently because I’m dealing with it. Now. I’m literally surrounded by my stuff. And my Dad’s stuff, for that matter. (For the record, his stuff seems to be exponentially cooler than my stuff. His is like, pieces of history stuff. Mine is just crap I’ve collected and a few autographed posters.)
My new home office currently consists of a Samsonite card table that my folks got as a wedding present with a tablecloth my mother made. Conveniently enough, I can do my laundry about 10 steps away from my laptop. It’s a temporary situation but I kinda dig it. Feels like college. Except, when I was in college, all my stuff really did fit in the back of my pickup. Now all this crap barely fits in a 2000 square foot house.
I guess my point is: Now that I have all my “stuff” in one place, I’m truly looking forward to going through it, donating it, organizing it, appreciating it or being horrified by it. No matter how you look at it, it’s your life. In piles. -m