My Relationship with Stuff

A few weeks ago, I bought a Funko Pop figure. Despite things being a bit tight financially, I spent $12 using the same excuse I always do: I’m going to buy this because it’ll remind me to be better.

For most of adult life, I’ve believed that if I surround myself with things that remind me to be a certain way, I’ll naturally begin to act that way and my life will be better. For example, a small metal Captain Picard has sat on my desk for years, reminding me to be calm, cool, and collected. Has it actually done that? No, not at all.

I don’t own a lot of items, but throughout the year, I’ll collect items that I want to display or attach some meaning to. I’m always searching externally for something to make me happy, instead of searching internally. By now, we all know the deception of consumerism, these new items only bring us fleeting joy, because there is always something else to own or some accessory to make it better. It’s a never ending cycle with the promise of happiness or contentment if you can only reach the end, but that’s the con, there is no end. Despite knowing this, I’ll happily chase that rabbit down that hole. I mean, I pride myself on being immune to advertisements, but there is always something on my Amazon Wishlist, so I’m pretty sure I’m just fooling myself.

I’ve done the extreme minimalism thing in the past for all the wrong reasons. At one point I was chasing a number of items to own, but most of the time I just wanted a reasonable amount of items that I could easily move myself, preferably inside my car. After dealing with a few bouts of homelessness, this becomes a priority, although the last five or six years, I’ve worked through those feelings of fear and things have begun to accumulate at a much greater rate that one would expect. I think there was a part of me that thought, if you just buy more things that you want, it’ll make you feel more secure, but it hasn’t. If anything, it’s become clutter and ruined the serenity I have with clean and organized spaces.

Last week, I watched The Equalizer, the 2014 Denzel Washington movie about a quiet man with a dangerous past, that is forced to get back in touch with his talents after seeing someone he likes being mistreated. This is not the type of film one might find influential, but there I was, watching Denzel and thinking to myself, “I love his apartment.”

Denzel’s character, Robert McCall, lives rather minimally. He has a very simple set up in his apartment (and his apartment in the sequel), where he has everything he needs and not much else other than books. This set up is admirable, but would not work in my life because I’m not giving up my TV and video game consoles anytime soon, but that’s not to say there isn’t something here to strive for. I believe the more you can eliminate the things that don’t matter, you have more time and energy to focus on those things that do. Do I care about those DVDs I picked up at Goodwill two years ago, but haven’t felt the urge to watch? Nope. What about all those CDs I bought and ripped last year, but have yet to actually listen to?

A kind gentleman online bought a huge lot of Conan the Barbarian books written by Robert Jordan. Despite being considered some of the worst Conan stories (I guess he saved up his good stories Wheel of Time) I happily sent him postage to ship some of the books to me and help him thin out the duplicates he owned. Have I opened up these books? No. Will I open them up? Probably not… my reading backlog is huge (I’ll definitely die before I finish all the books on it) and with stories that are considered much better than these Conan the Barbarian books.

The more I walked around my apartment, I began to question my purchases and whether the items were useful or worth owning. I realized I had purchased a lot of crap. I’d gotten caught up finding great deals at thrift stores or online sales, and sometimes I was just feeding this strange need to preserve something.

When I was a kid, I always kept a blank tape in my VCR ready to record at a moment’s notice. I did the same thing with my boombox. These were the days before YouTube and even DVD releases, so often when something aired on TV, if you didn’t record it, you may never see it again unless you got lucky with a rerun. So, I recorded everything. NBA games, wrestling shows, Stephen King mini-series, random MTV shows, music videos… there was always something for me to save. When the internet came along, I began saving pictures, sound files, and videos. I was always worried that something I found might not be available anymore.

After some journaling and soul-searching a decade ago, I realized this behavior began after my parent’s divorce. I was young, and I think something flipped inside my head that told me to preserve these happy moments because they won’t last forever. No one will want to talk about them or reminisce, so it’s up to you to save them for yourself.

Luckily, the internet began to make things easier on me. YouTube, torrents, Archive… they all started doing the job I once did, for me, and I felt like I could let go. It wasn’t my responsibility to hold onto this random mp3s of the PM Dawn album released exclusively to their fan club because now it was easily found on YouTube. It offered me a bit of comfort, knowing that the internet allowed so many things to be preserved.

Then, just as I got rid of most of my physical media, things began becoming rare. Streamers started getting greedy and shows began disappearing, and once again, I felt the need to save it all. I began buying DVDs and blu-rays as a way to save these shows. I would never have to worry about not finding Roseanne streaming, because I owned it.

But as I mentioned recently in my post about physical media, I began seeing its failings. I began having experiences with discs that didn’t work anymore (or even worked to begin with) and suddenly, this illusion that I had preserved these shows was shattered, and I really think it was the best thing for me. It’s not like I was consciously thinking to myself, “Oh, I need to buy the complete series of M*A*S*H to preserve it” I was just always looking to build my collection to future-proof my watching habits, which when I type that, I realize how insane that sounds. I think in some ways, I was just continuing the mission I began as a child, to save things because they may not be as easily accessible and instead of actually enjoying these things (or even thinking whether or not I was going to watch the entire series of M*A*S*H again… which I will BTW) I just kept buying things and that meant I had to buy shelves, and then more shelves, and the next thing you know, I have two huge shelves full of DVDs that I never watch because one day they might not be streaming. Oh, and I have digital copies on my Plex of those shows as well.

I traded my peace and comfort of my living area in an attempt to own all of my media. I’ve spent more time accumulating and searching out deals, than actually enjoying what I had and worse, I’ve spent a lot of time and energy focusing on buying things that I really don’t need. Without even realizing it, I was in another consumerism spiral. I was chasing that rabbit once again. I wanted to buy all of the DVDs and then I’d be set and I could actually kick back and watch them. I wanted to buy every Conan the Barbarian book, because once I had a complete set, I could read them and enjoy them all. I needed to pick up all my music on CD to free me from the shackles of Apple Music. This is fucking madness and I’m so frustrated I didn’t realize I was in the thick of it. I mean, realistically, I have what… thirty more years if I’m lucky? What the fuck am I collecting anything for?

Last weekend, I had a four day weekend and I began boxing up most of my stuff. Not the important things or the useful things, but the clutter. I realized my apartment was full of things that reminded me of who I once was and who I wanted to be, but not who I actually was. I had all of these things that made me depressed and it was time to change that.

I talked with my wife, who is always a bit skeptical when I begin to purge things. She realizes that in the past, it’s been more out of survival than anything else, but I reassured her this was something different. This was a dramatic realization of who I am, and who I’ve become and less about being burdened by the stress of too many items. This felt like something in my core shifted, in a good way. Time will only tell if that is true, but this does feel very different. Almost like I discovered something about myself and it’s freeing me to live differently. It’s more of an evolution rather than the repeating of a cycle, if that makes sense.

I took two car loads of stuff to the dumpster and my car is currently filled with stuff to drop off at the thrift store, but I’m already feeling good about my choices. The loft, where I work when I work from home, is so much nicer now. Its also the area where I do yoga, something I need to get back to and I think I will, now that I have more space. There is still more to declutter, organize, and clean, and I took off the week of Thanksgiving so I can spent some time to doing that.

The keyword I want to keep in mind going forward is curation. I want everything I own to be carefully curated. It’s okay to own movies, books, video games, and even trinkets, but I want them to be thoughtfully selected and not just picked up to enjoy on a rainy day or because I wanted to complete a collection. I guess, in some ways, I’m trying to chase that rabbit of consumerism out of the hole in the ground. I’m looking to find a way to free myself from those spending spirals and reclaim my space and my time. I want less to walk around, less to dust, and more room to move. I guess, my priorities have shifted.