The Scenic Route

How much is too much?

Once upon a time, a close relative went to visit some remote relatives with the intention of helping the remote relatives, who were moving out of their house and into a retirement home, with the resultant yard sale. The next time I saw the close relative, they were relatively upset. This related to a family row that began when yet more remote relatives showed up at the yard sale and began trying to dictate what would and would not be sold to the general public.

Their battle cry was, “Oh, you can’t sell that!” and the fight began.

After listening to my close relative go off about this for a while—they had miraculously managed to relegate themselves to semi-neutral observer during the battle—and after they had been calmed to the point of relative sanity, I took my leave.

“I’m going home,” I told the close relative, “and guess what I’m going to do when I get there?”

“What?”

“I’m going to throw something away.”

And, I did.

Selling, throwing and giving stuff away are God-given responsibilities and sacred rights, as far as I’m concerned. It doesn’t really matter, either, where that thing you don’t need any more came from. If it doesn’t belong in your life any more, you and it will be happier if it finds a new home. In fact, I recommend the web-based Freecycle (you can look up your local chapter on Google) for finding new homes for old stuff. You might also find new—at least to you—stuff there, but that misses the point of this little missive. Stuff reduction leads to life simplification, and, in our complicated world, that ain’t a bad goal.

So, if it’s in the closet or dresser, in relatively good repair, and I can’t remember the last time I wore it (with the exception of a Gerry parka, my dad’s Woolrich shirt and my grandpa’s London Fog jacket), some guy at the Gospel Mission is going to be stylin’ soon. If I have two of most things (certain hand tools excepted), that’s enough; and sometimes one too many. Sometimes, it’s two too many. In fact, I have this one thing—it’s a plastic jar modified to resemble a moose—that is definitely one too many, but it’s so cute.

The moose-jar, filled with yogurt-covered pretzels, was a Christmas gift from a remote relative, and the pretzels have been long gone for a long time. The other day, I got almost to the garbage can with the moose before I pulled up. Now it resides in a little niche right above the garbage can, smiling moosily at me when I throw other things away, awaiting the day when I figure out something to store in it, or when someone walking through my shop says, “That’s cute.”

“It’s yours!” I’ll say. Until then, I don’t think I will be able to throw the moose away.

So, I’m not entirely relentless or an ascetic. I just try to keep my stuff quota at a reasonable level. If I don’t use it, I try to divest myself of it. For a long time, I collected business cards with the intent of doing something with them. Gone. Cameras. Gone. Coins. Gone. Stamps. Gone with the mail.

Even with this philosophy, I have too much stuff. Two vehicles, for crying out loud. More than two computers, although they are in different places, and I think of them as hand tools.

Music. There is so much to listen to, I have dozens of CDs, and I find myself buying another one without giving one away. I have more than one CD player. And I have many books. Books often flow on out of my life after a brief stop, but some stay for longer periods of time, some approaching a lifetime.

There are works of art and photographs of loved ones and great adventures, both digital and paper. There are deeds and wills and last wishes. A box of Christmas ornaments. Russian Life magazines. Every ski pass I’ve had for the past 20 years. Three pairs of skis (but only one set of poles and one pair of boots).

Maps. I’m not sure one can have too many maps.

So, even with intentional stuff reduction, I am more materially blessed than about 93 percent of the world population.

Still, once upon a time, as members of the governing body of an organization that was having a rough time, we were asked as a group by our temporary, trouble-shooter leader, “Who’s authorized to throw stuff away around here?”

I raised my hand. Everybody else looked at me like I was relatively nuts. I did not take my hand down. But, then, I think there are only two things that we can’t have too much of—friends and love.