Except there is. Particularly when you are a pack rat, the child of pack rats, genetically obligated to keep every issue of Utne Reader you've received since 2004, stacked neatly next to the two disposable cameras that you've owned since before the advent of digital photography, because you never know when your digital camera might eat your film camera (which you never use but for which you still own extra rolls of film, which also have to be packed) and cause an emergency need for a backup $3 Fujifilm that's been sitting around so long the film in it is actually fossilized. Because God forbid you had to walk the two blocks to the nearest drugstore and purchase a new disposable camera in such a situation. There would obviously be no time for that. We're talking real emergencies here, people. Same reason to keep the cute little travel votive candles that some secret, unimaginative Santa gave you at some point in high school. YOU NEVER KNOW.
But I actually still go back through and read the Utne Readers now and then. Really.
I have a feeling of envy mixed with curiosity and a little awe for those people who can't stand clutter, whose homes contain no scattered magazines, no scraps of paper scrawled with important notes and phone numbers, no random envelopes from their health insurance companies or the tax guy or Paul Newman asking for help saving the oceans. How do they remember the important bits of information? How do they remember to send stuff to the insurance company or the tax guy? Don't they realize that Paul Newman is still quite attractive, considering that he's 112 years old?
The truth is I don't really want to be one of those people. It's too sterile a lifestyle for me. I just want to be a little more like them than I am now, and moving is the best and worst time to try to realize that goal. Part of me wants to purge it all, chuck it in the garbage or Goodwill bag, and another part just wants to put it all in boxes and deal with it later, because I am working until 8:00 at night and feeling guilty for leaving so early when there's so much more to do, and feeling so exhausted when I get home that it's far more comforting to look at the empty shelves and sink into a false sense of accomplishment than to pack, much less actually sort things and think about what I'm packing.
Why is it that the times in life that most demand energy and patience and perseverance are the same times that cause the reserves of such qualities to run low?
4 comments:
As the child of a pack rat I revolted at some point in my life. Now I love the feeling of just throwing stuff away.
Paul Newman can still act up a storm. Did you see Empire Falls?
Tra la, more proof that sometimes we are the same person! :) The only difference is that I have five years' worth of Harper's (don't know how I managed to work up the courage to recycle my UTNEs... but I don't have them anymore so I must've done something with them.)
Don't worry darling, my Utnes will move to VT with me; you can borrow them. Borrowed clutter is entirely acceptable.
My dear, when you come from a fine tradition of packratting you may consider it a responsibility to carry on--if not refine--the family customs. However I wouldn't be surprised if at some time you have a revelation which causes you to leave all but the most salient parts of your past behind--at least for a moment. Don't be afraid if it should happen. The children you don't yet have will bless you. And never forget: Paul Newman is captured on film so he will never grow old. Long live Paul Newman.
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