Stuff, n: Household or personal articles considered
as a group. Unspecified material. Worthless objects.
I'm going to be moving next month, and I’m determined to simplify my life. I’m selling my car,
donating most of my furniture, and getting rid of “stuff.”
I
used to think this stuff meant something
important because it reminded me of someone or someplace that I didn’t
want to forget. What about those important tchotchkes from Italy or Ireland or Hawaii?
I’ll take a picture of them and remember them that way. I don’t need three
dozen glasses of various shapes and sizes. And I only use one coffee mug at a
time; why do I have eighteen? Is
the “Car Talk” mug that I got with a contribution to NPR really all that
important?
How about the extra bed frame for the spare bedroom that I won’t
have in my new one-bedroom apartment? Some formerly homeless family can put it
to good use if I give it to a charity here in Atlanta.
The
pictures I’ve scanned into my computer; the memories are in my head. They’re
better than possessions, and a lot easier to carry. Good-bye to stuff.
This
feels good. It’s cathartic. A fresh start in a new place. Effective in mid-June
(date TBD) I will be living in the Mission Hills neighborhood of San Diego, CA. (See below.)
The
apartment complex is basically the entire square block from left to right and back behind in
the picture. The neighborhood has a bit of a Greenwich Village feel to it. There are some small shops along Washington Street, the east/west thoroughfare in the foreground. And
yes, for you eagle eyes out there: there’s a Starbuck’s in the building. (Green sign.)
I'll post my address when the move has been completed. My phone number will stay the same: 770-757-1815.
"California here I come ...
right back where I once was from."