Thoughts On Things

The other night I was on the phone talking with my friend Matt Brezina. We might have been talking in person except for the fact that Matt lives in California and I live in Maryland. It was a late night phone call, but the conversation was good. We had plenty of time to talk, which isn't always the case these days. After sharing some of the details of daily life, we moved on to a slightly deeper topic: the idea of owning things.

Matt had recently purchased a motorcycle, and although he was excited about his bike, he wasn't all that excited about all the things that he had to buy. His helmet, a spare helmet, gloves, a jacket, a parking pass, maintenance for the bike, etc. Matt then brought up a good point. How buying things often leads to the buying of more things. Things that go with things. Things that hold things. Things that sit on things. On and on and on, piles of things stretching on into infinity.

I told Matt that I had also been thinking a lot about things. This past summer, when I was living on the road, I had in my immediate possession very few things. All my things fit very nicely in the small bags that were strapped to my bike. I was living a lightweight lifestyle, and I was happy.

But when I came home and opened my front door, all that changed. The number of things in my immediate possession multiplied by a big number. Suddenly I was the proud owner of thousands of things. Hundreds of books, and CDs, and records. A closet full of clothes. Juggling equipment. Things left over from my childhood. I had tools in the basement, and lots of bike stuff, and four other bikes. I had four guitars, two banjos, two ukuleles, one mandolin, and several instrument cases. Many things. Lots of things. Hundreds and hundreds of pounds of things. There was a brief moment when I thought about not touching these things. Like maybe I could just keep on living with the stuff I had on my bike. But that idea was quickly dismissed as I reached for my old Fender steel string.

Later that night I revisited some of my things, and I found their presence to be pleasing and comforting. Even though I had a lot of things, I realized that I had many of them for a reason. Many of my things seemed to be more than things--they were tools that I used in my life. Tools for learning. Tools for creating. Tools for exercise and enjoyment.

I mentioned my after-the-bike-tour experience to Matt. Matt then asked me if I had read Paul Graham's essay on stuff. I said no. Matt said I should check it out. I said ok. I then brought up a conversation that I had with my brother Chris. Chris was talking about simplifying his life by getting rid of a lot of his things. But I asked Chris where he would draw the line. He'd surely have to keep some things. Which things? Chris wasn't sure. I wasn't sure either. I thought (only hypothetically) about what things I would get rid of. I knew that for me to answer that question, I would have to go through every one of my possessions and decide yes or no. Need or want. Keep or donate. This would be a huge task. It would probably take weeks. And would the result be worth the effort? I didn't know. Chris didn't know either. "You do have a lot of stuff, man," he said.

My thoughts on things always go back to the late John Lennon, who said, "Imagine no possessions, I wonder if you can." Wise words from a wise man. I think he was on to something. John knew what he was talking about. He was deep thinker. And even though he had thousands of possessions orbiting around him, he was still able to think simply and write good songs. He knew how to cut through the nonsense and get down to the things that really mattered.

Thinking about what Lennon said, I realized that when we talk about things we have to consider not only the physical aspect of the thing, but also the mental aspect. The idea of the thing. The memory of the thing. Even if I could get rid of most of my things, I would probably still carry their weight in my mind. The memory of the thing would be there, taunting me, pulling me back, speaking to me late at night, driving me to be the consumer that I once was. I don't think I am alone in saying: I would miss my things.

So what to do? Matt and I couldn't really come to a final conclusion. It seemed that there were too many grey areas.

Chris and I didn't find the answer either.

And so after I got off the phone with Matt I starting writing my thoughts down. I thought about reading Paul Graham's essay on stuff, but I forced myself not to. I didn't know where my own thoughts were going to take me, but I wanted to let them go in their own direction.

And now here I am writing at 2:00 in the morning. Marley is curled up in a ball, sleeping on the floor next to me. My notes are laid out on the desk in front of me. My computer is connected to the Internet. I am tempted to stop working. "Take a break," says a voice in my head. "You have time to check out a couple Billy Collins poems." But I can not stop writing. I refuse to add another thing to my life--even a poem that weighs virtually nothing--until I finish writing this thing that I have started.

The question still remains: What to do? I realize that this is a question we each must answer. But for my friend Matt and my brother Chris I will offer these final words.



Dear Chris and Matt,

The season of spring is coming up, and I am reminded of the goodness of a good spring cleaning. Every so often it seems like a good idea to clean house, to organize, to minimize, and to reassess. The process can be lengthy, but it just might be worth it. But if you believe house cleaning will lead to lightness of spirit, mind, and body: there are no guarantees. Without the right attitude, a person can give away everything and be left with nothing. And by the same token, a person can have everything and still have nothing.

In the end, people are more important than things. And your body/mind is the most important thing that you own, so nurture it and protect it. And speaking from experience, it is possible to have many possessions and not be tied to them. Possible but challenging.

I hope this helps.
Fondly,
Jeff