Giving up the past

A self-portrait as part of a school project.
Circa 1975 (first grade)

It’s strange watching your stuff be auctioned off.

Strange in a good way, at least for me.

The auctioneer introduces it briefly, to reorient bidders with the merchandise. Then it’s off to the races. Bidding progresses by tens, 2-50s or even dollars, depending on the item, until shortly it’s down to one bidder who agrees to the final price.

Then, at the end of the night, the bidders pay up and take home their treasures.

Somebody else’s trash …

We had stuff at Barrett’s Auction because I’m getting rid of everything.

I want to move to Portugal, to start. From there, we’ll see where I end up. It’s a big world; I want to explore it. I can’t do that with a lifetime of stuff.

Where does it come from?

I’m not a saver. I’m a tosser. I’m not sentimental. I nearly threw away birthday cards one time that still had money in them. If my mom hadn’t guilted me, I’d have been out about 50 bucks.

Through the years, you acquire stuff. Clothes, dishes, knickknacks, furniture, gardening stuff, painting stuff, tools, appliances, books, movies, games, kids’ toys, art supplies, more kids’ stuff, more stuff.

During the years, I would purge. I’d go through a drawer or cabinet and get rid of at least half of what was there. I only tried to keep stuff we used. Most clothes that didn’t fit or I didn’t wear were donated. Same with shoes. Somehow, it would come back. I’d buy more or get more. Someone would buy me something or give me something, or I’d agree to take something because I thought I needed it. It was easy to say yes.

One of my great pleasures was trying to repurpose things. If I needed a shelf for something, I’d walk around the house looking at stuff and opening drawers and doors, trying to find a way to create what I needed out of what I already had. I made a fun phone shelf out of a decorative box by gluing the top to the side of the box so it created a back – an L-shape, then attaching the bottom of the box to the wall so the lid became the shelf.

But still, I collected stuff.

Of course, there are some things I would keep. Photos, mementoes from plays and trips, movies of our kids when they were little, special artwork from family, things I really liked – even clothing I was sure I would never fit in again, but I couldn’t give it up.

And then something switched. You can’t move to Portugal with a house full of stuff. And really, that’s what it is: Stuff.

I’ve been purging and encouraging my family to do the same. We need to sell the house. They can keep what they want, but it’s not staying there.

When I find it overwhelming, I move on to something else. It took me several times to get through boxes of old newspaper clips, high school yearbooks and childhood pictures I drew. I got rid of most of it. I took pictures of some. Others, I just looked at and decided if it was gone, no one would know – even me. Why was I keeping it?

There’s something to be said about history. Family history. Our history. But if it’s gone, who will know? Who will miss it?

I can’t be the keeper.

I’ve passed some on to other family members who will appreciate it and give it a good home or sell it or something. I’m OK with that. I’d rather items with a personal history or personal meaning go to someone who will appreciate them. And if they choose to pass it on, that’s up to them.

And everything else is going to the auction.

Which as I sat there on a recent Tuesday night next to my cousin, watching things from my house go to the highest bidder, it was very freeing. Work lights, black lights, DVDs, star charts, tools, decorations, even my flute and sheet music – it was OK.

And then I realized this happens every week. Barrett’s auctions off all sorts of stuff, from estates, people’s basements, attics and garages.

And someone else is there to buy it. So, it’s never really forgotten or lost.

It just changes location, and somewhere it stays as a memory, perhaps remembered, or maybe forgotten. But never really gone.