Offspring and Stuff
I’ve heard sensible folks advise sentimental people (like me) against saving their china or silver or family photos for their children. Just toss it. Your kids don’t want this stuff. And I’ve come to understand that such advice is accurate. I’ve watched my kids toss photo albums into the trash. So much for carefully documenting generations of family ties.
Now I’m prepared to take that advice a step further. If you’re spring cleaning (or moving) and thinking of tossing items but just aren’t sure—toss ‘em.
When I left my home in Arkansas for a much smaller house in another state, I knew I had to get rid of things just to fit into my new abode. And I feared I’d regret leaving things behind. But now that I’m here, I wonder why I brought as much junk as I did. I have furniture stored in my garage, waiting to see how it fits in. I don’t need it.
All the Native American pottery my husband and I collected while working on the reservation just collects dust. Without my husband here to reminisce about how and where we obtained these treasures, they mean nothing. Nobody sees them but me, and I don’t really see them anymore. And I don’t need pottery to remember what twelve years in Native America taught me.
My kids all graduated high school and college in New Mexico and share memories with me. But they have no use for the pottery. It’s in a cabinet that I only open to grab my favorite wine glass—purchased from the Goodwill.
I love my mother’s artwork—sculptures and paintings I proudly display in my new home. But I can see that when I kick the pail, this work won’t mean much to anybody. My daughters might like to have some of it—because they can remember when Grandma created it. (My son doesn’t have a sentimental bone in his body. The walls of his apartment are bare.) But when my daughters are gone, Grandma’s artwork won’t mean anything to anybody.
I’ve been taking such good care of so much stuff, thinking it’s important. But I see now I could have crammed my life into a camper—tossed the chairs and sofas and Aunt Marjorie’s silverware – and been just fine. And certainly more mobile.
My parents lost everything to Hurricane Katrina. They were in shock for a while – but in a matter of months, my mother told me, “It was just stuff.” She started over—and none of the stuff she lost ever mattered again. Her life didn’t lose meaning. If anything, it gained significance—when she came to understand how little the stuff mattered.
I like my new house well enough. But what I cherish most in my new hometown is the experience of trying something new. We had seven-and-a-half feet of snow this winter and I never once wished it would go away. I love the beach, the gigantic farmers’ market (the second largest in the state) and the sense of community—I’ve an abundance of new friends who make me feel wanted.
None of it has anything to do with furniture, silverware, native pottery or photo albums.
So, consider this: Lotsa folks create three piles when spring cleaning – keep, maybe, & toss. I think that’s a good idea. And when you’ve sorted everything—slide that “maybe” stuff right into the “toss” pile. Dump the whole thing quickly. Before you ponder it any further. You’ll be fine without it. So will your offspring.