The Stuff Paradox

Last Thanksgiving, we were all sitting around the dining table ready to gorge ourselves.  But first, we took part in our family tradition of telling each other what we were thankful for.  This time, my family generously decided that we would go tallest to shortest, so I could go first.  (The previous year we went most hair to least hair.)

Deadwood: Okay, let's see...I am thankful for family and health.  Rooty?

Rooty: I am thankful for family and friends.  Your turn, Fern.

Fern: Those are good.  Plus, I am thankful for shelter and food.

Rooty: How about you, Sprout?  What are you thankful for?

Sprout: White blood cells.

"I can feel it, now, Doorway.  You're about to go on one of your stuff rampages, aren't you?  The most important things in life have nothing to do with stuff...yada, yada, yada.  Right?"

Well, as a matter of fact, I...

"I knew it.  Okay, I'm outta' here.  You're just gonna reprimand me for buying too much stuff and accumulating too much stuff and telling me what a bad person I am.  Forget it.  See ya' Dankwet."

No, Slash, that's not the direction I was headed at all.  Rather, I was going to offer a few words of encouragement.  Specifically, share with you something I call The Stuff Paradox.

"The what?"

The Stuff Paradox.  You know how I mentioned awhile back that stuff escalates?  That is, we sometimes think something new and shiny is going to make us happy, but the happiness soon wears off and we have to buy something even better and even better and even better and pretty soon we've got a house full of junk that doesn't make us happy at all.  And the process seems to be habitual - the more we have, the more we want.  Well, fortunately the opposite seems to be true, too.

The less you have, the less you want.

"Okay, that makes no sense, Deadwood."

Let me try to explain.  I used to be a total packrat.  I had all kinds of junk and felt like I couldn't part with any of it.  It was either too cool, or potentially useful, or had too many memories associated with it.  Furthermore, parting with something I owned somehow felt like losing a bit of myself in the process.  So I kept everything.

"What changed?"

I met this woman in college who didn't keep anything.  She was constantly getting rid of stuff.  To the point of wastefulness, actually.  But the interesting part to me was that she wasn't tied down to stuff at all.  She couldn't care less about stuff.  Nothing seemed to hold any meaning to her.  She even gave away her grandmother's silverware at one point.  (And to her dismay, had to track it down again, years later, when her grandmother found out.)

Even more fascinating to me was that she was amazingly free-spirited. (Despite the fact that she was a law student and smoked like a chimney.  Go figure.)  And I wondered what drove what - did her free-spirit facilitate her detachment from stuff?  Or did her detachment from stuff enable her free-spirit?  Or, was it all just one big integrated mess?
 

I never figured out the answer.  But the point is, I was pretty much the exact opposite.  I'm not exactly free-spirited, Slash.  In fact, to be honest, I'm a bit uptight.

"Nooooooo!  You?!  I never would have thought!"

I know, right?  And back in college, I was even more uptight than I am now.  But I was getting tired of all the stuff around me.  It was a burden.  So I decided to get rid of stuff and see what would happen.  I started off small, and got braver over time.  I got rid of old school papers, newspaper clippings, furniture, clothing, yearbooks, toys, even my stereo.  (For the younger readers, a stereo is an iPod that doesn't fit in your pocket.)

As I got rid of stuff, I began to realize...hey, I didn't need this junk after all.  Stuff didn't matter!  In fact, the more stuff I eliminated, the less I needed.  All this stuff that I once thought was so important and significant was just junk.  No meaning, no value. 

"There must be some things that you held onto.  You're not completely heartless."

For sure.  I kept my college diplomas.  I still have some old letters.  And an old pen my dad gave me when I was eight.  (Which, by the way, still doesn't work.)  My old Pooh Bear stuffed animal.  I'm actually quite sentimental, but I try to be that way with a minimum of stuff.  So, for instance, I have lots of photos and videos of my kids on my computer.  But we try not to keep the old stuff associated with them.

I once read someone's advice to only keep stuff that you use often or that brings you joy.  I thought that was a really neat way to think about it.  Which reminds me, I need to get rid of those college diplomas...

"To be honest, this isn't really registering.  I'm having difficulty relating, here.  It almost seems un-American.  Remember the old saying: he who dies with the most stuff wins."

Your response is understandable.  A co-worker of mine once interviewed me to find out how I was able to retire early.  When I told her about my perspective on stuff, she asked me, "What have you sacrificed?"

I thought that was a really good question.

But I couldn't think of anything.  I may not have a Blue-Ray disc player, a flat screen t.v. or a Nutribullet juicer, but I don't want those things anyway.  In fact, by not having all that stuff, I feel like I've gained freedom and clarity.  In the end, it's not a sacrifice.  It's liberating.

"How so?"

The less stuff, the less distractions.  I can focus more on the things that are really important to me.  And I am no longer psychologically burdened - I am much less dependent on stuff.  Independence.  Liberty.  Doesn't get any more American than that.
 

 

"It is not the man who has little, but the man who craves more, who is poor."

– Seneca

"The secret of happiness, you see, is not found in seeking more, but in developing the capacity to enjoy less."

– Socrates

"Any half-awake materialist well knows – that which you hold holds you."

– Tom Robbins

"If one’s life is simple, contentment has to come. Simplicity is extremely important for happiness. Having few desires, feeling satisfied with what you have, is very vital..."

– The Dalai Lama