There’s nothing like moving to make a person realize how much stuff he has.
I recently unloaded 90 percent of my “Star Wars” and “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” collection on eBay, and I’m glad I did. (I had enough stuff that I was actually using the term “inventory” rather than “collection.”)
Money-wise, I probably broke even or maybe came out ahead, but the main thing was getting the weight off my shoulders. The figurative weight of feeling tied down because of all that stuff, and the literal weight of dealing with all those boxes — packing ’em up, carrying ’em onto the moving van, then off of the moving van, then into my new place, then unpacking ’em … and trying to find a place for it all.
The consumer-based American culture and the cycle of life in the 21st century seem to work in harmony, and it’s probably no accident. Here’s how the pattern goes; I’ll use myself as an example, but see if it sounds familiar:
When I was a kid, I saw toy commercials (disguised as movies or TV shows) for “Star Wars” and “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” products, and I bought a bunch of toys. Then I moved out of my parents’ house, and I didn’t have room for all this stuff. So I sold most of it on eBay or to local friends.
As I move again, I’m thinking of getting rid of more stuff, because I’m sick of hauling it around.
The next step, in theory, is that I’ll settle down with a secure job and a big house, at which point I’ll go on eBay and purchase more collectibles (since I’m an adult, the toys are now called collectibles). Some people actually purchase the same collectibles that they previously sold, but that won’t be me — I’m more interested in what’s new and cool.
I know now why my friend Trevor unloaded his “Star Wars” Bossk Unleashed statue and a bunch of videotapes on me when he moved from Minnesota to Texas. And I’m starting to rate my stuff with a new effort-reward value system. Do I like it enough to move it? (This decision is a lot tougher with books than with toys, but dang, those boxes of books can get heavy.)
When I was a kid, I developed a sense of worth by how much stuff I had. I could invite friends over and show off my basement filled with “Star Wars” toys; I developed an identity based on that — I was the “Star Wars” kid. And every now and then, I was comforted by looking upon shelves full of things I loved — I could pick up a toy or page through a book from my “Star Wars” library, and lose myself for a few minutes.
Now there’s something rewarding about getting rid of stuff. Today, being able to move around my apartment without tripping over Imperial Shuttles and Naboo Royal Starships sounds quite appealing.
That’s America, and that’s life.
By the way, I still have a few old “Turtles” board games you can have for cheap. Just drop me a line.
Anyone else have stories of collecting stuff and later getting rid of it? And what stuff can you not bear to get rid of, even though it takes up a lot of space?