Perhaps some of you have heard me go off on one of my impassioned rants against that thing that has come to irritate me more and more lately-- stuff. You know, things, items, objects, physical bric-a-brac that seems to be increasingly cluttering up my life.
A lot of people don't get my aversion to stuff, but I find growing steadily more intense is my desire to disassociate myself from the attachment to physical things. Material objects just seem like such silly things to make emotional investments in. They get lost, they break, and they certainly don't love you back. Also, the more crap you have, the harder it is to clean around it all, leading to dust and general clutter. I can't bear clutter because it robs me of my special love, the clear surface. Not sure why, maybe because it gives me space to do things in, maybe it just makes thing seem clean and organized. Stuff just kind of... gets in the way.
Of course, in the interest of accuracy and fairness, I admit there are particular kinds of stuff I not only like, but actively bring me a specific joy. Dishes, cookware, glasses-- the accoutrements of cooking and eating of any kind. Comfort things likes sheets, towels, tablecloths. Domestic things in general, I suppose, things that make a house more comfortable, liveable, and pleasant. Pretty jewelry and clothes are increasingly becoming a weakness of mine. And as much as I may love how compact, neat, and easily accessible digital data storage is, nothing will ever replace the sensation of a book in your hands.
So, yeah, I guess I don't hate all stuff. But notice what all these things have in common. They are all highly functional, have a closely defined storage space, and tend toward being visually attractive. They are used frequently and efficiently for very specific purposes. Cookware goes in the cabinets, jewelry goes in the jewelry box, clothes go in the closet, books go on the shelves.
I despise tchotchkes. I despise things that have no use other than to sit out collecting dust and taking up counter space. Nothing makes a place more uncomfortable and claustrophobic for me than overcrowding with badly organized stuff. The few that I do have were all gifts from important people-- my boyfriend, my best friend, my brother. And though I usually like them at least a little, I mostly keep them around out of consideration for the person who was kind enough to give me a gift. But honestly I kind of wish they hadn't bothered. For me, the thought is enough. I don't have to dust a thought.
Early in our relationship I remember Jared was constantly giving me things, and whenever money needed to be spent he would always try to pay for me. I appreciated his desire to show affection that way and take care of me, but it made me kind of uncomfortable. I really don't like the equation of love with the willingness to spend money, not to mention I don't really want to have any more stuff. I want to trade off paying when going out to eat, and have people know I would rather they write me a little note saying something nice to me than have them buy me anything. I have had to lay down some pretty firm rules about this issue with some people, as I do not want any advantage taken, nor the appearence of the same.
The other thing is, closely related but for me a distinct issue, I especially don't like junk. If I am going to concede the space and money to the having of a physical thing, I really want it to be worth it. I would rather save up and spend a little bit more on the version that is actually nice and what I want than get the cheap and junky version that isn't as durable, attractive, or useful.
Sometimes I just want to go through my space and throw away stuff in big armfuls. But even I must concede sometimes it's better to have it in case you need it, rather than having to go out and buy it when the contingency arises.
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