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What's With All This
'Stuff'?
by Bill Stimpson
My wife and I are in the final stages of a massive simplification process. It began
many years ago, and has led us down some very interesting roads -- roads that I'm
speculating an increasing number of people will travel as each year goes by.
While I've learned some incredible lessons over the course of the operation, I am
truly dumbfounded at what I've learned about possessions, and the tremendous burden
that all our "stuff" places on us. It burdens us all physically, emotionally,
financially, and even socially -- we simply cannot escape the confinements of our
"stuff." We have to organize it, store it, clean it and insure it. We strain
ourselves to find a way to utilize our stuff, and the longer we have it the more
emotionally attached we become and the more difficult it is to let go. Occasionally
our stuff even keeps us from inviting people into our homes. In the end, our stuff
owns us, instead of the other way around.
Personally, I'm at the point where I can no longer look at the world the same. Everywhere
I look, I see materialistic behavior, and not in the typical sense of materialism
-- it's got nothing to do with money. In fact, I often see just the opposite. The
people who can't afford much seem to accumulate the most. It seems that people are
simply not aware of how much clutter they have accumulated in their lives and how
much trouble it causes them. I didn't even fully understand this myself until recently.
After years of amazing progress in simplifying our lives, my wife and I had only
one remaining challenge. This challenge was lurking in the shadows of our basement.
There, stored away in boxes that hadn't been open in years, was our past. Boxes of
stuff from our childhood and early adulthood, accumulated over the years. This is
the worst kind of "stuff," the stuff that you have for so long that you
become absolutely paralyzed just thinking about it. So we were very determined, but
tackling this challenge was quite a process. It stirred up all sorts of memories
and emotional release. It wasn't always fun, but after each box was gone, we noticed
how much better we felt -- "lighter and free" was the best way to describe
it. It turned out that we threw away probably 99 percent of all our past "treasures,"
and it felt really good. And once we had a full carload of trash, we always made
a ceremonial drive to the local dump, where we unburdened ourselves in one final
act.
One day a few months back, I went through a large box of all my favorite toys and
general "stuff" from my childhood. I will say that I had a really good
time looking over the contents of the box, and I put aside of few special items to
later share with my wife. But most of it ended up in the trash. Toward the bottom
of the box I started to feel ill, just from the sheer quantity of all this worthless
stuff occupying my house and my mind all these years. How could I have let it go
on so long? I couldn't help but think of other people with far worse situations than
myself. I felt their pain. I had to immediately get rid of this stuff, so off I drove
to the dump despite having only a partial load.
I arrived at the "dump," which is actually a huge garbage transfer station,
where truck after truck arrives and dumps their day's garbage collections. In turn,
it all gets packed up and sent off to a land fill. The utter scope of this place
is intimidating, and despite its colossal size I knew that this was just a tiny microscopic
representation of the world's garbage on any given day. How sickening. Due to all
the frantic commotion and big machinery, I even had to wear a hard-hat when entering
the dumping area. There, garbage was piled stories high, and all the contents blended
into one big stinky, dirty, gray mixture. Even the floor was covered with an indescribable
gray slime. Disgusted with the entire scene, I quickly removed the contents of my
SUV and sent them reeling onto the ground.
As I removed the last box of stuff, I was beginning to feel the customary euphoria
that surfaced at the conclusion of each previous trip to the dump. So I heaved the
last box even farther than the rest. As it slammed down, one lone item popped out
of the box and landed on the ground. The image froze me in my tracks. There on the
dirty floor lay one of my most prized possessions as a child -- one of my absolute
favorite toys. It was my AquaMan -- a G.I. Joe-type toy with a black wet-suit and
bright yellow scuba equipment. I had spent hours as a child playing diligently and
passionately with my little marine buddy, imagining myself in his place -- in the
bathtub, in the pool, in a mud puddle, or sometimes in the kitchen sink. And here
sat this perfectly useful toy that had somehow become expendable in our disposable
society.
I can't fully describe the feeling I had while standing there staring at this colorful
toy lying on the cold, dirty floor of the dump, waiting to be hauled away with the
rest of the trash. But in that moment, I experienced the most brilliant clarity,
and my scope of understanding grew bigger than I thought was humanly possible. It
was as if I was lying on my death bed and finally realized the truth about possessions
-- that they truly have no meaning in the big picture of life. Not only do they have
no meaning, but they often hold us back from living.
As I numbly drove away from the dump that afternoon with slow tears in my eyes, I
couldn't help but think that I have to do something. I have to help people understand
the situation. I have to help them escape their "stuff." And don't we all
have to help save the earth from this vile habit of hoarding and dumping?
Bill Stimpson recently began pursuing his newly found passions of writing, personal
growth and spirituality full-time, after being in the corporate world for 18 years.
He and his wife, Michelle, founded LifeShine Coaching and Consulting, where they
provide coaching and consulting for both individuals and groups. More information
can be found at www.lifeshinecoaching.com, and Bill can be reached at bill@lifeshinecoaching.com.
Copyright © 2005 Bill Stimpson. All rights reserved. |
| June 2005 |
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