Amounting to a Hill of Beans

Possessions, I have discovered have a use-by date similar to food. There would have been a time in the life of each of my belongings when I needed or just plain desired it. That item, be it furniture, ornament or tool, once had a purpose but later was shelved, put aside for a day when it might come back into fashion or use again. Eventually it was forgotten, sad, even old-fashioned, a lost memory to cling to, a relic. After that, it turned into junk taking up space, valuable domestic real estate.

I have moved house six times in the past fifteen years and realised as I faced a seventh that it was always in a rush with never a proper chance to clean the excess from my life. I would simply pack (sometimes so meticulously it never resurfaced) everything into boxes and find places for it all in the new house. I carried baggage from my life with me everywhere I went.

It was definitely time then, to purge years of nostalgia, clung to memories of good times and bad and previous lives I have led. They have all contributed to the person sitting behind this keyboard today but none of it is necessary as a reminder of how far I have come. I am organic demonstration of that. I don’t need trinkets to bear witness.

So purge I did and once I started I got me on a roll that felt sooooo good I just kept right on going. The questions I asked myself were; do I need this? Do I still use it? Did I even remember I had it? Am I going to have to go out and buy another if I throw it away? What followed was a monumental clean out, arms windmilling as I delved into boxes under the bed, in cupboards, everywhere there was a place something could be stashed. My sister looked astounded asking where I had kept it all. Hidden was the answer. Well hidden, like a hoarder’s dirty secret. I felt shame at having so much stuff but then I’ve never owned a home so what other people would accumulate to fill houses, I fitted into the bedroom and kitchen of a shared flat. I have never had proper space to call my own so I found secret places to keep everything I considered necessary to define me. In this clean out however, I realised that none of it was precious anymore. Less was better, a simple, uncluttered, clean existence was healthier for me than filling the gaps of my life with fripperies. I am not defined by things. I am defined by experience, by personality and demonstration of my soul. Possessions are just easily identifiable trappings, frivolities, clues to the deeper but not the only me.

So what to do with stuff that is no longer necessary but has tangible and intrinsic value still? What-ho, a garage sale! By crikey what a cracking idea, well done Gromit! My previous experience of garage sales were as a kid, when the genius to sell stuff we piled into the annual mini skip was instead, hit upon. That garage sale had been lashings of childhood fun and lucrative with folk wanting to buy everything down to the very last coolie hat lightshade. So, this would be the answer to our moving hassles, sell everything, earn extra cash and reduce the amount to shift! Genius!

A word of advice that I wish everyone had not waited until afterwards to give…never, ever, ever hold a garage sale unless your heart is made of stone. For Little Miss Sensitive here, the experience devastated my delicate sensibilities. No seriously - stop laughing. The sight of vultures arriving in the dark, eyes powered by greed lighting a path to our door, trampling over my meagre life spread across the floor of the garage, was horrifying. Honestly, it was as if the hyenas had arrived to tear shreds of flesh off me for $2.50 and even then, they wanted to haggle over the 50 cent. They showed no respect. I was after all, selling for decent and reasonable second-hand prices, things of value. All this lot wanted was something for nothing and cared nought that they were trampling others to get it. The lowest form of humanity came to our garage sale and by the end, my spirit was drained and empty.

I said at the start of this that my possessions meant nothing but it is not quite true. They represent my judgement good or bad and the garage scavengers would be wise to consider that. However, I am glad to have purged the waste from my life and in a way, even thankful at the traumatic manner in which it occurred because now I can say that I am rid of it all. It is gone, torn savagely from me and I can start afresh. I go to Melbourne with no past haunting me. I am an international woman of mystery, a fresh face and a fresh perspective. I feel healthier already.