If you are anywhere near the top 25 people in my most recent calls, you've gotten that question at least once in the last month or so. Or, like Jill and Seth, you've grown accostomed to me showing up with Trader Joe's bags full of food or clothes or cleaning supplies or stuff you've loaned me. The stuff that doesn't fit in the bags, i.e. my bike, or the futon, or my papisan chair, well, that gets loaded into the Subaru and hauled in under the sweltering heat (seriously, why do people move in the SUMMER?!) The bags of clothes are the most fun, as it's almost a fashion party of who fits what and what will match what who already owns. Most stuff is for keeps, but there are also a few semi-loaners out there. And all of these things are really great. Just really great stuff.
It came as a complete shock the first time someone said "no" to the "do you want..." call. I even prefaced it by informing the person (it was my brother) that the object (my papisan chair) I was parting with was great. He said, "No, I don't think I want it. I mean, if you really can't get rid of it, I'll take it. But...." What?! It's great! What do you mean you don't want it, AND that I might have a hard time getting someone else to want it? Surely people are lining up outside the door just clamoring for this great thing! Right?
Turns out, I think it's great. And this opinion is not universal. In my progress toward leaving the country for 2+ years, I've had to process my attachments to stuff. Most of it, I'm finally realizing, is special to me, because I like its function or the memory of how I acquired it. I couldn't see how people might not want it, because I couldn't see that it might not even be important to me in a few years. And once I realized that, I began pitching.
With only a day to be moved out of our SECOND apartment on Argonne, I began to separate. Stuff that had value, worth, possible usefulness to other people, and that was declined by my top-25-calls, went into the garage sale pile (I think I may have doubled this pile with my additions alone!). Other stuff was rifled through, a TON of kitchen/house stuff was taken away by my friend, Michelle, and then the leftovers were put into the alley (provided they couldn't bring in a buck or two at the garage sale). Then the garbage. WHEW! I threw away BAGS of little things. Kelly always jokes that I should have been around in the Depression because I won't get rid of something that might have usefulness at some point. But in the last few hours before we had to be out of our apartment, I was on a roll. And it felt good.
I can only hope that the stuff I've passed on to other people will be helpful to them and that they will find enjoyment in using it. And the people who go to the garage sale and get a great top for $1 or a set of decorative pillows for $2 will be happy with their bargain. But what I REALLY hope is that it's not the stuff that matters about me...but rather who I am and what I do that actually contributes to humanity. I don't want to just take up space, I want to matter. And THAT'S what's great.
So, Kelly and I are out of the apartment. I've set aside what I plan to pack and sorted through the rest. I'm storing 2 boxes. Like a turtle always carries their home, I've got a big backpacker's backpack and a sleeping bag. I'm lightened and free, unsure of what this road holds, but ready to matter.
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