It’s about 9:17am on a Saturday morning in late May.
I’m looking through the kitchen passage to the front room where the sun streams through the windows onto a preternaturally large pile of clothes, hangers, peelers, pots and pans, forks and knives, a black and white tutu, and more and more.
These are the things I’ve surrounded myself with for the last three years. Staring at it, I imagine it floating off the ground. I imagine everything I own picking itself up and swirling into a conical mass above my head.
Driving in my car, I am wrapped in clothes, wrapped in a warped hunk of self-propelled steel riding down the road. I add this all to the pile and let it sit and marinate and float and think of my pile, this conical structure of material objects massed above me. And I look at my neighbors and think about their swirling masses (hmm… that sounds awkward).
Moving is a horrible practice that puts this whole being human deal in perspective. I’ve never gone through a move where I’ve said to myself, “Say self, it’s too bad you don’t have more crap.”
No, every time I have moved it has been about paring things down, getting rid of things, slimming down. And when I look at my pile for the cross-country journey, I realize I don’t really even have that much.
But even so, my car will be brimming with things, pieces of this earth artfully arranged and mounded up around me, piled up in the pile of earth that is my car.
I always admired my German neighbor who managed to live an extremely spartan lifestyle. Why do I need another jacket? I have one. Two pairs of shoes is fine.
As I get ready to move to Germany, I’m scanning available rentals and realizing I have no choice but to slim down. Given the size of spaces available, there’s no room for extraneous material. So on that note, anyone wanna’ buy a great car (link to my site for my Subaru Forester for sale)?!?!