Stuffed

I have too much stuff. I know this. I have known this for awhile. Almost every year since I moved into my freshman college dorm in 2001, I've packed my stuff into boxes and unpacked it into my new living space. Actually, there were some years when I moved my stuff more than once.

In 2002, after that first year away from home, I moved my stuff out of A-349 in UCSC's Merrill College and packed it all up in my friend Colin's car. I was headed back to spend the summer at my parents' house in Palo Alto. Colin's parents lived there, too, and he was headed back there anyway. After safely shepherding the car, me, and my stuff over Highway 17, Colin helped me unload everything onto the sidewalk in front of my parents' house, and said goodbye. It was well after midnight, and as I brought my stuff into my parents' garage, box by box, I was careful not to make too much noise.

Just a few months later, I was loading up a rental truck with my dad. We were moving all my stuff back across Highway 17. Colin and some other friends from Merrill had found a large house on Western Drive where the seven of us could live. I wasn't too sure what the place looked like but I took it on good faith there would be room for all my stuff there (home is where the stuff is). My dad and I spent the day driving around Santa Cruz looking for furniture to keep my stuff in. In addition to a bed and a desk, we picked out a bookshelf and dresser that I still have and use for keeping stuff.

Except for that first summer as a college student, almost all my moves have been from old home to new home. Almost all my leases have lasted for twelve months, so there hasn't been a need to move stuff into my parents' house for the summer. There have been times I moved my stuff in one shot, using a rented van or truck, and there have been times I moved my stuff gradually, a few boxes at a time. Every time I pack up my stuff, there are invariably a few boxes of stuff I haven't looked at since the last time I moved them. When I have time, I'll look through them, I've told myself. Most of these boxes have labels, so there's no real mystery as to what they contain: Old Electronics; Misha's Schoolwork; Memories.

I've packed each of these boxes with stuff I've accumulated or created personally. Every time I move them, I tell myself this stuff is or will be valuable enough to me that it's worth crating it around and making space in my home for it. When I think about how I've saved these boxes of stuff, I feel somewhat embarrassed by the contradiction of preserving the immaterial past by collecting and preserving these physical reminders, all the while entombing them in boxes that remain perennially closed.

Now, I don't exactly feel this behavior is materialistic because these boxes of stuff are packed away, unused, almost immaterial, actually, because they are invisible and their value is (at present) purely symbolic. Materialism means you buy stuff to impress people by decorating your home with it (right?). All my books, movies, music, and bottles of booze, carefully chosen and arranged to convey a wealth of taste and experience -- now there's materialism, for you.

I didn't set out to be a materialist, or a hoarder. A lot of this stuff I received as gifts, and a lot of it I purchased with the best of intentions, but have not touched since (except, of course, to put into and take out of moving boxes). I've been reading and collecting books since I was a child, but until the last two months, had ready exactly one work of fiction in the previous nine years. Some of the books I've had but not read for going on twenty years. My movie collection grew out of being a film major (or was it the other way around)? In addition to my CD collection (which has itself become a box of stuff, long ago backed up as mp3s), I have a shelving unit full of vinyl. Some of the records are vital rock standards, but mostly, I fell in love with the idea of owning records a few years ago, and haven't really listened to most of them, even once. The booze collection started before my dad traveled to India in spring of 2010. It feels like ages ago. I helped him clean and pack his house, and in return he sent me home with a crate full of odd bottles: most of a bottle of creme de menthe from Cuba, a few splashes of Remy Martin XO, two old bottles of Belgian beer... it was enough to get me curious and get me started on my own home bar. Now I'm the one keeping stuff in his cellar.

My resolution this year is to get a grip on my stuff. The bookcase from college is full, over-full, actually: there are books on top of the case. Some of those books are from college, books I didn't read then, but always meant to get around to reading. The dresser is full or knick-knacks (and has some books inside), and is pulling double duty as a bar, with dozens of bottles of liquor on top. Most of the bottles are open, but a few are not (I've been saving them for a special occasion). The entertainment center is (nearly) full with moves (and a few games). I have seen most of the movies, and at least read the instruction manual to most of the games, a few remain strangers. Many of the books and music are unexplored.

And I'm always getting more of all of this stuff, because there's always something new, something exciting, something to add to the collection (or worse, a new collection to start). Something that reminds me of something else I have, or something that reminds me of a person or experience I enjoy. Sometimes I ask for stuff as a present, and it usually ends up on one shelf or another. So you see, I'm worried that if I don't put the brakes on accumulating sooner rather than later, I am going to get caught in the cycle of chasing more and more stuff. And after moving (on average) once per year since 2001, I know by now that I have more than enough stuff to keep me going for some time (at least a year, I'm sure). So I'm putting an end to it. At least for a little while.

I won't bring anything new into my home in 2012. There is already so much there that is new to me. I'm going to dedicate some effort to taking inventory of what I already have, and I'm going to start enjoying it and sharing it more. With friends, with family, with anybody who is interested. And in addition to the books, movies, music, and booze on my shelves, I'm going to make my way into the boxes of stuff I've held off on exploring for so long. As I type this, I am palpably excited as I think about what I might discover. What I might remember. What I might have wanted to forget.

My current lease doesn't run out for another eight months, and I don't intend to move when it's over. I like where I live, and I want to keep moving in, rather than moving on. But to do that, I need to deal with all this stuff I have. I haven't fully decided how to start, but I'm going to write about it as I go. And as the year goes on, I just might feel like I have more than when I started.