Last week I was hit, not for the first time, by the realisation that I have way too much stuff. By which, of course, I mean personal belongings. But more worrying was the new recognition that a lot of what I have I didn’t even want in the first place.
I only brought one suitcase and a carry-on bag with me when I moved to the UAE four years ago. Since then, I’ve acquired the usual necessities of living: a bed, a sofa, a kitchen table, a television set, washing machine, refrigerator, other kitchen equipment and some climate-appropriate clothes. I also have a lot of similar stuff stored at my mother’s house back in Australia, along with my really precious possessions: books, records and CDs, DVDs, treasured family photos and other things of sentimental value like school workbooks, gifts, paintings of me made by my daughter, and my own childhood toys. A few of my family members and friends also have some of my stuff, which I suppose I could reclaim if I was so inclined.
At my age – 55 next month, thanks for asking – it might seem that I already have everything I’ll ever need. Yet, instead of sticking with what I have, I seem to be acquiring new stuff at an alarming rate.
Everywhere I go, I am given things that I don’t need. If I go to a fast-food restaurant, or order food for delivery, I am inevitably given plastic cutlery, paper plates and cups, even though I have the real things at home. Recently I visited a takeaway outlet and, when I said I didn’t want the large bottle of fizzy drink that came with my meal, I got a look of disbelief from the woman at the counter. Here, she thought, is somebody turning down the offer of free stuff. She obviously didn’t believe me, because when the order arrived at the adjacent counter, the drink was in the bag. I got a quizzical look from another attendant when I took the bottle out and reiterated that I didn’t want it.
Similarly, the checkout staff at my local supermarket don’t quite get it when I tell them to limit the number of plastic bags they give me. I really don’t care that the eggs are in the same bag as the cornflakes.
But that’s the exception to the rule. When I’m lucky enough to be travelling up the front of a plane, I usually get given a pack full of stuff, including moisturisers and hand creams, a comb, cotton buds and other stuff that I know I will never use. Somehow though, I always shove them into my carry-on bag and they end up in the bottom of a drawer back home. Equally, I always take the soap, shampoo, conditioner, tea bags and other products from hotel rooms.
I usually return from holiday with half a suitcase full of things – all the aforementioned plus tourist brochures, silly souvenirs and whatever else wasn’t nailed down.
To tell the truth, I’ve started to worry that there’s something wrong with me – and that it might be genetic.
About 10 years ago, a distant relative died. Because he had no close family, it fell to my brother and some of my cousins to clean out his apartment.
We were horrified by what we saw: wall-to-wall stuff. Apparently, this man had never thrown out anything in his life. Everywhere we looked, there were newspapers and magazines stacked to the ceiling; piles of household goods, video tapes, sporting equipment and even still-wrapped gifts; anything you could imagine and some things you couldn’t. Apart from a narrow pathway that led from the front door to the bathroom and bedroom, every surface was covered.
We hired a skip and threw most of it out. It was sad, because this was – had been – his entire life. Almost everything he’d ever owned was unceremoniously sent to to the dump. How different might his life have been, I often wonder, if he’d introduced some order to that domestic chaos.
Now, as I look around my flat and I see so many things that I don’t need, I worry about what I might become.
I wonder what among my possessions I really need. Of course, there are all those memories stored at my mother’s place, but they, too, could do with some weeding out. I have pictures and videos of my family and close friends stored on my mobile phone, computer and various backup devices. I have a blog and a Facebook page, where I record things that are important to me and share them with people all over the world.
But do I really need the daily itinerary brochure from every cruise I’ve taken? Or the map that I used to negotiate my way around the grounds of Belgrade Fortress? Or the entry ticket to Al Ain Zoo? After all, I know that I did all those things, and nobody else cares.
Of course, I want to hold on to the things that are really important to me, but I don’t want to become a hoarder like my unfortunate relative.
So, I’ve made the decision to tidy up my life lest it all gets out of hand. After all, it’s not what we have in life, but who we are that counts. So cleaning out some stuff shouldn’t be a trauma. I’ll always have the memories.
bdebritz@thenational.ae
On Twitter: @debritz
