Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Stuff, I reject thee

I scan my surroundings, taking literal and mental inventory of everything I own. The closets and cupboards packed full of material possessions. The shelves lines with books, trinkets, knick-knacks and treasures. All the chattel I've collected over the years. Given as gifts, inherited, borrowed. The walls barely containing all these things. The fixtures and furnishings I can't live without. The tangible definition of who I am.

As I do my one millionth load of laundry, washing the equivalent to a Mt. Everest pile clothing I continue to collect, and maneuver a vacuum around the furniture crammed in every room, I think to myself, why do I need all this crap? Does it really make me happy? Do I truly want to spend such an enormous amount of time continually taking care of all this shit? Is it all necessary?

I have far more than my share. Millions of people live their lives within modest means and are productive and fulfilled. It's ridiculous that the mere thought of my garage packed full of nothing more than useless junk stresses me out so. My never-ending quest to decorate will not be satiated by the perfect accessory for the coffee table. Those coveted black boots are not the answer to my peace of mind. Nordstrom will survive just fine absent my patronage.

In moments like these, I contemplate with all seriousness a global rejection of this mounting girth of materialism bursting through my seams. Selling my condo and finding a quiet, tiny little cabin on a remote island in the Pacific Northwest is a fantasy that frequently runs through the clutter in my mind. Sans televisions, catalogs and malls within walking distance. My nights spent reading by a crackling fire. To strip my existence of burdening effects and become a whole person, pure in spirit, one with nature, real

How life-affirming and refreshing that would be. To pare down and concentrate on the truly important things in life. Friends, family, love. I wouldn't have the distractions of riches. I wouldn't be a product of my belongings. The smile on my face would come from what I have within and not from what I'm without. An authentic life.

Then I go to Target and I say, Fuck. That.

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