I lost my backpack this weekend. And it didn’t even phase me.
I’m a Capricorn. I am notoriously addicted to stuff. While not exactly a hoarder, I could easily be called a collector…and maybe even an over-packer. I like to be well stocked and supplied. Okay, I’m a hoarder.
When we move to Costa Rica in 35 days, we all have two suitcases each. (And a carryon bag. And everything I can put in my pockets, belt pouches, and under my hat.)
I have had the wonderful opportunity to re-examine my relationship to the things in my life, to STUFF itself. It’s remarkable to engage with an object that I brought into my office five years ago, because I wanted to use it/make something with it/keep it incase I needed it ,and find that it still has served no useful purpose in my life, aside from weighing me down.
Then, there’s the stuff that makes the cut. The stuff I actually USE. My laptop, my journal, my keys and my wallet, my juggling balls. Things I keep nearby throughout the day.
And then there’s the stuff I want to look through when I’m an old man. Boxes of old memorabilia from when I was young; since the definition of “when I was young” expands to include ever-greater portions of my life, this collection gets larger. I’ve now got it up to 6 or 7 boxes of stuff, that I’m willing to pay to store indefinitely.
Normally, losing or misplacing any of my many possessions (catalogued subconsciously by my brain) causes me distress or even grief. But after a month of slowly, methodically combing through my office and re-examining all of my possessions, I was able to lose some unimportant stuff and really not care.
I was, admittedly, drunker than I had been in quite some time. The annual North American Organic Brewers Festival, which I have happily attended since its inception five years ago. This year was the first where I was not working a booth or attending with my kids; I could really just wander around and drink amazingly good beer in the sunshine.
I’m not just good at a couple of things. I’m good at nearly everything I do.
