Frothing at Le Mouse has set up a truly funny scene involving what I regard as the normal Winter Ritual of self-loathing, reassessment, and humiliation. Not really Festivus, not really the lost art of New Year's Resolutions... at most, an harbinger of Lent. Sackcloth and ashes, if you will. Ruing the reality of clutter:
A few months ago I bravely scoured the spicerack and disposed of those items that were talking to me. “Please. Euthanize me. I’m congealed and I hurt. I cannot escape the jar. Kill me now.”
It reminds me to toss out old dreams that died, write off people I can't use, (unless for comic effect), and to plow up fallow expanses filled with exercise equipment (I need room for a hot tub!). I keed. I keed.
But, there's not much else. Our little family has always been on the move. Our longest stint was in a three-bedroom Ranch house on 1/3 acre for about 13 years. From there we moved to a one-room apartment. Not on purpose, but because our house sold within 24 hours of putting it on the market. That'll motivate you to toss things pretty quickly. Toss, we did. At the end of our six-month lease, we were down to whatever was in the apartment. No rental storage. Just us.
Now we're in a condo. By definition that means a bit less room for stuff you hate, stuff that you'll never repair, books you'll never re-read, gifts you'll never return, or receipts you'll never shred.
I remember a friend of a friend, who inherited a beautiful home filled with irreplaceable antiques. How she loved and loathed it! How surprised she was by the freedom she felt when it tragically burned down one night. She later related that it was the best thing to ever happen to her.
This life passes by pretty quickly. If you have room for trivial stuff that will have import and meaning to the next generation, by all means, hang onto it. Or send it to James Lileks. If not, then make room for friends and drinks and good conversation and hang the rest.
Ain't no U-Hauls hitched to a hearse.