A week later, I’m still swimming in an ocean of boxes. Naturally, I have thoughts.
I’m honestly somewhat disappointed in myself. It’s not because I have a few shoeboxes of kitchen utensils, or because I have a few boxes of car parts that will some day go in the garage; these at least are understandable. It’s that I have five old laptops, five single board computers from long abandoned projects, books that would be great to own if they didn’t otherwise distract me from more important studies, and shirts that I’m not comfortable wearing.
This stuff…is disconcerting.
It is the second PS2 I didn’t have the guts to return because it is otherwise in beautiful condition but doesn’t work.
It is the hiking jacket that wasn’t a perfect fit but which I bought anyway because I thought I could somehow make it work.
It is the weight set that is collecting dust here, just as it collected dust at my last place, and the place before that. (stupid little shrine that it is to the expectations placed on men, a complicated subject for another day)
It is the suit that I would rather throw in the trash, except that I’m expected to wear it on rare occasions.
It is the little techy projects I lost interest in long ago but which I have kept because money was spent.
Some time ago, I realized that although I have a whack ton of tech books that contain an incredible amount of information, this information by itself accomplishes nothing. So although it’s second nature to keep these books because they are “useful”, the actual truth is that they exert a certain heaviness over my life, since they fill the backlog of projects I subconsciously hope to complete. I was praying about this last night and, notwithstanding the difficulties of hearing from God, I felt like God said, “Okay then, give up your books on Rust [a programming language]. Why are you still trying to be a software developer?” That hit pretty hard. Why AM I still trying to be a developer? But in the back of my head, it’s like, “But some day I’ll be a master Rust developer and build some awesome privacy tools!” The only real response is: “Aren’t you leaving software development because it’s boring to you?”
So many stupid contradictions!
This is why I’m a big fan of downsizing. As I mentioned in my last post, it really does force you to confront what really matters to you. Having space is nice, having good stuff is nice, but seriously, most of what we own is junk, and I think we all kind of know it. It just isn’t easy to confront.
The heaviness really resonates with me, too. This past year, I learned how to be okay with having unread books, but I finally realized what makes books heavy in the first place: it is the sense of purpose I attach to learning various things. The supposed responsibility of this is what makes owning some books actually quite burdensome. The books stop being a curiosity or an aid and instead become obligations and incarnations of the weight I’ve put on my own shoulders. If I have learned anything from these years off work, it is that chasing glory through service to subjects God has not called you to will destroy your productivity. I don’t ever want to waste that much time again. But…that’s also a very long story.
What would you give up in exchange for the things that matter?
I’ve grown soft over the years, fattened on a diet of out-of-sight-out-of-mind.
One question I started asking myself as I looked through books to get rid of is, “Does this book earn its keep?” Like, does it really serve some valuable role in my life? Does it offer something irreplaceable or unique? Do I have any intention of reading it again? That, I think, is where you find the real value. Moreover, an abundance of reference material usually just sits there.
Another thing about stuff is that there’s nothing inherently wrong with it, and nice stuff can really enhance your life. But it comes back to another conclusion I’ve made over these many years, which is that nice stuff really does nothing for your life if it isn’t making your life better on a regular basis. You could have the nicest furniture in the world, but if it’s rotting away in storage, what’s the point? And that’s not an indictment against using storage for limited periods of time (which I’m doing right now), but it is to say that storehouses of nice things are generally not an indicator of money well-spent.
I have a really nice view of the tree tops from my new room. It’s inspiring in a way I haven’t been inspired since I was in middle school or high school. Which is weird, and causing me to think about some things in life. What would you give up for an inspiring view? If I envy anything, it isn’t storehouses, it’s inspiration.
So as I look through my things, I ask myself, “Does this thing hold any meaningful value in my life?” Sometimes it’s mundane but useful, and that’s fine, but sometimes I realize it’s a hold-out from a long abandoned project, or something kept out of a sense of obligation, or an unnecessary duplicate. In a perfect world I’d have the highest quality of the things that matter, but there’s a lot of interpretation and assessment that goes into what that would even mean in my life.
Anyway, that’s enough on this subject for now.