When I was young I loved to go to flea markets with my Uncle. He collected glass bottles and enjoyed the hunt. I’d tag along with my eyes peeled for cast iron doll house furniture, hand carved wooden puzzles, Barbie clothes and Raggedy Ann dolls. It was always fun to explore the booths and tables and come home with all sorts of odds and ends. I heard the cliche’ “one person’s junk is another person’s treasure” many a time as a kid. It rang true for me. I was always delighted with my acquisitions.
Twenty-five years have passed since those youthful days of skipping down dusty rows of whatnots. I wonder if the old cliche’ still holds true? There is no question I am surrounded by quite a bit of junk these days. From carpet to ceiling, my house is pretty much covered in useless stuff. Would another person walk into my lair and gasp at all the treasures? I’m not so sure.
My doubts in my junk being another person’s treasure stems from the growing reality everyone else seems to have the same junk already! It’s no longer unique and special. Have you been to many garage sales lately? It’s like seeing your living room on someone else’s driveway. The real tragedy is when you drive by later in the day only to find the junk is still there with various price reductions marked all over. A new low is the treasure planted in someone’s front yard with a ‘FREE’ sign that has clearly been there for a while.
Looking around my home, I can spot the junk without much effort. It sticks out like a sore thumb, actually. Why I wasn’t as astute in the store, I can’t say. Must of been some pretty convincing marketing messages. They’ve done their job seeing as I still haven’t been able to part with things I’m sure I need, but haven’t found a reason to use for several years. Not only have I not been able to part with my junk, my husband and I are making a considerable investment in storage units to hide it all. That’s no where near the dollars we will spend when we purchase a larger home to make room for more. Then there is the cost the movers will charge us to box it all up and transport it to the next closet, attic or basement.
Have we gone insane? Perhaps we’ve put too much stock in believing our junk could really be a treasure. I’m not sure how it all happened and when it began. I do know when it’s going to end for me. No more useless purchases. I’m taking control of my house and stripping it of the very things that are crowding my rooms and crowding my spirit. If they were really treasures, they wouldn’t leave me feeling cramped and overwhelmed. Of course, I’ll give away what I can. It’s sad to accept; however, a fair share will be destined for the gaping hole at our modern day Treasure Island…the landfill. From now on, I’m going to treasure the things that are living and breathing. No one else has my husband. No one else has my daughter. You can’t get more special than that.
Well said Lisa. I couldn’t agree more. Now if you could only tell me how to detach my feelings from this ‘junk’ I would be ever so grateful. When I receive something as a gift, why is it that I feel guilty getting rid of it, like I’m somehow betraying that person? It’s not as if they’re going to ask me where the snow globe they gave me 5 years ago is. I also have a hard time parting with some things because ‘it might come in handy someday’. Sad thing is that day rarely comes. Even if it did I don’t remember where I stored it anyway. We’ve got an entire unfinished basement holding our junk and I’m guessing at least 2/3 of it will never be used by us again. You may have just inspired me to start parting with some of this clutter, even if it stings a little. Once it’s gone it’ll soon be forgotten. You are absolutely right. It’s not the ‘things’ that people have given me that matter, it’s the people themselves.
I have the same guilt issues about gifts. I have things stashed in drawers and closets on the off chance someone will come for a visit and ask where is the gift they gave. That’s only happened once, by the way. My twin sister wondered why I hadn’t displayed the framed picture of her cats she sent me. Oh dear. Luckily I still had it in a box I could get to quickly. Buster and Ally are now displayed on a credenza in my finished basement. Don’t tell her they are dusty.