Do You Suffer From Stuffitis?

As I write it is Labor Day 2023. It signifies that autumn is nearing (thank goodness), school is back in session, and we take this last breather before the busiest time of the year arrives.

We enjoyed a fun and much needed relaxing weekend. Saturday, we spent time plundering through one of our favorite antique malls. On our way back, on the spur of the moment, we stopped by an estate sale.

It was evident that the estate was of a former professor at a nearby local university. He had a very large collection of yearbooks, and resource books. We figured he was probably a history professor given his vast library. Also, he had a room full of jazz and classical vinyl, all in pristine condition. We spent at least an hour looking through it all.

As we drove away, loaded down with yet more books and albums for our own collection, I started thinking about how we accumulate things over our lives.

No doubt, he felt joy in listening to all the wonderful music he had amassed and spent hours reading the pages of his books. We frequent estate sales often and I always make a point to stop and look around. I try to envision the family that once lived there and how they spent their time. The love, laughter and even tears as life unfolded. I bet he never imagined people would one day tramp through his home like it was a thrift store.

Several friends have started purging their things. One friend said she was only keeping what would fit in her car; the rest needed to go so that it was not a burden for her children after she was gone. I am not at that point yet, but I know eventually that I will need to think about doing that myself.

I read in the news this past week that storage businesses in the US have grown to more than 1.6 billion square feet of space in 2023.  We apparently have a stuffitis pandemic. Given the amount of stuff in my home, I cannot point at a soul. It begs the question, why do we need all this stuff?

That’s a deeply philosophical question with many rabbit holes we could fall into, but I know for myself that it comes down to memories.

I love making a cake using my mother’s cake pans, or looking at a trinket that my late sister gave me one Christmas. I am instantly transported back to my mother’s kitchen in the home where I grew up, or in Nashville sitting around a Christmas tree. It does not matter that I have my own set of cake pans in the cabinet, or hundred more trinkets.

As a younger person, I felt the need to accumulate nice things as proof that I was doing well in my job. Granted, I’ve never had overly expensive things, but I have enjoyed the abundance that my former career provided. As a now almost fifty-eight-year-old woman, I am drawn less and less to things and more to spending time with the people that mean the most to me.

Sitting around my kitchen table with my dearest friends and family or gathering with the tribe of women that help keep me sane is far better than another trinket. If I am honest, it has always been. Stuff has never filled my heart to the point it spills over from joy.

My plan is to leave all my childhood items and books to my granddaughter, Eloise. My art will go to my goddaughter. The vinyl will go to my oldest stepdaughter, my art supplies will go to my youngest stepdaughter. The books will be divided for several individuals to manage. Family heirlooms will go to my younger cousins. The rest can be donated.

 So, for right now, I will enjoy my stuff, as I make more and more time for the people in my life. Have yourself a great week ahead. I am going to listen to my new Bach album and read one of my new books.