It’s one thing to see your life flash before your eyes; like when you’re driving through high winds on black ice way up in the mountains in a rear-wheel-drive cargo van with baloney-skin tires in winter. That’s traumatic enough; but, when you see all of your stuff coming out of a huge moving van, piece by piece, box by box, a steady stream of things directly and indirectly related to you with varying degrees of usefulness, but all relatively sentimental…when you see this, the trauma is there but it’s subtle.Why? Because you’re too busy wondering how in the world you’re ever going to unpack and find a place for everything!
You will undoubtedly recall that the other day, I posted Our Place in the Country, a tribute to the contemplative lifestyle and excessive stuff. Well, when Ann texted me yesterday from California and confirmed that we would, in fact, be moving there in a couple of months in connection with a job offer that she accepted, I thought to myself, among other things, “Good Lord, what about all our stuff?!?” Perhaps I’ll make a mini pilgrimage to our secluded stuff shrine in the next few days, reflect on the words of George Carlin, reacquaint myself with our special collection of enshrined stuff, consider its earthly value, and fashion a few next steps if not a complete plan of action. Or maybe we’ll decide simply to walk away, and as my sister suggested, make an anonymous call to the reality TV series, Storage Wars!
I refer to our suburban storage unit as our place in the country. Lately, I’ve been thinking about all the stuff we’ve practically forgotten about, stuff we continually pay rent to store. That makes it relatively expensive stuff that we don’t use and probably don’t need. I come here to clear my head once in a while.