I confess that I've been guilty throughout my life of a certain degree of low-grade materialism. I'm not one to spend a lot of money on cars or fancy watches or other ostentatious trappings of success, but I've spent way too much on clothes, shoes, random art, and baseball hats. Man, do I have a lot of hats.
While in temporary financial limbo I've become significantly less materialistic. Would've been hard to be moreso, honestly. I haven't purchased anything material for myself that cost more than 30 bucks or so in over a year, save a pair of shoes I needed to coach soccer. I've learned what I can do without, and I've had a chance to think about things that matter to me. Which leads me to the idea of this post.
What if something happened that required you to get rid of almost all of your *stuff*. What would you keep? For the purpose of our exercise, you can have essentials (basic clothing, food, lodging, vehicle). You don't have to give up your pets (sorry, zman). Size and weight don't matter - assume you have a bag like Hermione did in the Deathly Hallows and you can carry anything. It's not an ascetic purity test, man - we're just flexing our intellect here. What non-essentials matter to you?
Marie Kondo might ask: what sparks joy? For me, it's more about what sparks memory.
As I started thinking about my own answers, I pretty quickly realized that there aren't that many things in my life that I couldn't or wouldn't want to live without, even things that I really enjoy, like my Gheorghe Muresan bobblehead or my seven (count 'em) different Boston Red Sox hats. If I'm being really honest, there's no *thing* I couldn't say goodbye to if pressed. But that really defeats the purpose of this post concept, so I will highlight some of the stuff that makes me really happy.
It won't really be a surprise to you that, with one exception, the things I'd want along with me for the ride are associated with my people. Many of them are framed pictures of family and friends, including these (while I could obviously just keep the digital versions, I think I want the physical, and the bag is limitless, after all):
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Clockwise from upper left: my sister, grandfather, father, and me walking at
my grandparents' New Hampshire farm (circa 1975); my youngest driving me at a
sock hop at her elementary school (2011ish); me and my girls in Brewster, MA (2004);
me and the girls in Myrtle Beach, SC (2015)
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W&M Graduation 1992; My wedding, 1999
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| My then-fiancee/now-wife and me, Richmond, VA, late 1990s - note the Cowboy Cafe t-shirt |
Back in the late 60s, my Mom knitted two sweaters for my Dad. I have them both to this day. One of them is fraying a bit around the collar, but the other is in pristine condition, and it's warm, comfortable, and stylish. I'll be taking both of them with me.
The sweater looks particularly dope under the flannel-lined wax trucker jacket I got from Huckberry a few years back. I owned it before Pedro Pascal made it famous in The Last of Us. It's badass - definitely coming along. Never know when you'll need proper gear with which to fight off mushroom zombies.
The good people at Lionsbridge gave everyone who attended the D.C. screening of More Than a Game a movie poster commemorating the film. It's framed and on the wall in my basement and it's going in the bag. I assume Shlara and the Teej have theirs prominently displayed. I've also got a poster from the 1996 Atlanta Olympics that I framed with tickets from most of the events I attended with FOG:TBs Young Old and Jay.
You've heard the story of the demise of my family's beach cottage on Cape Cod. There's a sort of happy coda. My aunt salvaged a large sign that hung on the front of the place that displayed its name, The Mooring (so named because my great-great grandfather's last name was Moore). She sent me the sign, which now proudly hangs in my office.
Semi-relatedly, in the sense that my aunt's son (my cousin, if you're a bit slow) and I have paddled the St. Croix River in northeastern Maine several times over the past decade. On one of those trips, I picked up a cool-to-me piece of driftwood at a campsite and tried my hand at spiffing it up with some sandpaper, danish oil, and wax. Came out pretty neat, if I say so myself. So well, in fact, that my wife lets me display it in our house.
After a soccer season several years ago, which turned out to be the final season of my daughter's travel soccer career, the team Mom had the kids sign jerseys and framed one each for me and the head coach. It's on the wall in my basement, and it makes me really happy.
We're down to the last thing I'd keep, and it's well in line with everything else I've selected. Turns out, as I suspected, most of the "stuff" I care about isn't so much stuff as tangible forms of memory. This one's unique. Before I got married (I think), Whit gave me a framed piece with photos of the front doors of each of the six, count 'em, six places he and I lived together. If those doors could talk. Actually, we're both probably glad they can't.
Alright, Gheorghies, ball's in your court. If we do this right, this concept will give us content for the next several months, and if I know myself, I'll think of several other things I'd want to hang onto. So get at it - what are you taking with you?
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