Refuse, recycle, replace

Over the past year I've noticed more and more of my things wearing out.

A dish or glass breaks, a pair of jeans develop unseemly holes, so does a pillowcase. It's like my house is trying to clean itself out. Instead of getting upset or replacing the items, I first try to repair it, and if that isn't possible, I chuck it and don't think about it anymore.

I mean really, how many dishes do I need? Even when the dishwasher is full, I have plenty of silverware and glasses and plates and bowls and pots and pans. I can make due with a different pair of pants, or use another pillow on the couch.

The summer of 2012, I got rid of a lot of stuff. I sold books, had a big yard sale and donated several bags of clothes and household items to Goodwill. I still have a lot of stuff. At the time, I wasn't having luck in the Nashville job market and was hoping to sell my house and move to a city with more prospects. That didn't end up happening.

When I moved to Nashville, I had something like 14 boxes of books...for my kitchen. Besides clothes, that was my biggest moving expense. I don't regret it, and I have not thinned my collection of cookbooks much. I enjoy reading the cookbooks, and often do cross referencing for an ingredient I have too much of or haven't used before.

Most of the items that break or come to the end of their usefulness I don't bother replacing. The most recently re-purchased item was my sugar bowl, which I actually use for salt...and use every day. Somehow I've shattered three of them in the last few years.

I'm not sure if this is the most effective way to purge my home. My mom and sister tend to go room by room, ruthlessly ridding them of anything outgrown or unused in the past six months. My dad, brother and I tend to hold onto items a bit longer, like forever.

It's not that we think the bits and pieces of ephemera from our lives are valuable, but they are sentimental. In 1997 I had most of my jewelry stolen from my room in a seven-bedroom home in Brighton, MA. Four room mates had just moved out, and I am still convinced that it was one of them, but could never prove it. The thief managed to grab the ring my parents gave me for my bat mitzvah, the bracelet they gave me for my 18th birthday, and the earrings they gave me for my 21st. I can still picture them all. Thankfully, the pearls must've looked fake, and they were left on the table in my room. The necklace they left was a wedding gift from my dad to my mom, and was given to me on my 16th birthday.

Despite the loss of the baubles, I did not lose the affection my parents were showing me with their gifts. In subsequent years, I have come to appreciate emotional connection more than glittering jewels. A meaningful conversation holds my attention longer than a sparkling gem. Of course, I put my shiny things in safer places now, and I still appreciate them and the intent with which they were given.

I do not mourn the loss of stuff anymore. I embrace what I have, which encompasses much more than material things.