We were never allowed to throw things away at will. Belongings piled up until my closet and chest drawers were bursting at the seams. We didn’t donate much either unless there was a specific recipient who my mother knew for sure would value the items. It was probably an attachment wound from her own childhood. On the weekends and most especially spring breaks my older sister and I were tasked with going through the many, many trash bags my mother used to house her plethora of clothes. Nothing was ever thrown away or repurposed just made more visible for to wear or rearranged amongst the sea of black gallon trash bags. My sister was lucky enough to have allergies and get out of the chore every so often. Which left me to do the bidding alone while my mother ordered me around from her king sized bed.
When I left our family home I had a lot of things too. My first college apartment closet spilled over with clothes, bags, shoes and hair products. After leaving my second apartment abruptly for fear of eviction, not knowing there was a months long process I could have taken advantage of to scrounge up the $400 that was the price of my dwelling space, I loaded up all my belongings in my 2011 Mazda 2 hatchback. One load at a time, and stuffed most of my belongings into an outside storage unit. Big miss steak. Some of my shit got ruined from my cleaning chemicals bursting in the heat or became bug infested.
After couch surfing for a few months while I looked for work after graduation I found another apartment. It was tiny and equipped with a nice enough roommate. The closet was much, much smaller and tighter than anything I was used to. I packed my wardrobe in and basked in the excitement of being back on my feet with a nice corporate job to boot. Months later I discovered mold in that tiny closet on some of my most prized possessions. My favorite calvin klein leather jacket, my jessica simpson chunky block heels. And get this, I had never had renter’s insurance and couldn’t even get reimbursed for the destruction of my beloved property. I toiled with the leasing office to have something done. All they did was provide me with a rolling rack to place my clothes on while the mold was gutted. Needless to say I did not renew my lease.
I told this story about my relationship to material things to say that I don’t have a personal belonging I value you most. I’ve learned to only place value on the intangible things I can hold close to my heart. Attaching myself too strongly to a personal belonging could lead me down the slow and unwitting path to hoarding or facing stress when that thing becomes damaged or ruined unexpectedly.
I’m certainly not positing that I’m some perfectly unattached to materials individual but I have been committed to material minimalism and try to make the most of what I have, give away the things I don’t use and let go of things when they no longer serve a purpose.
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