I’m just a guy with baggage and clutter; physical and metaphorical. Some might say “pack rat”, but looking around and thinking it through, there’s really no rationale to it, unlike some form of rationale I can imagine when I consider the expression “pack rat”.
I’ve done one form of purge before, when I moved to the United States from Canada. I packed every single possession I wanted to keep and held dearly in only FOUR (4) linear feet of a shipping trailer (semi). Four, namely because it was the minimum charge, and money was a factor, when you’re talking 100$+ per extra linear foot! For reference, a linear foot is counted from back of the trailer (part closest to the cab, the part where the driver sits) to the front (doors on the back of the truck), and are eight (8) feet across by another eight (8) feet high.
Considering that in those four linear feet (or 256 cubic feet if you want to envision the entire volume available, but not used), were included a washer, dryer kitchen table and 5 chairs (including a captain’s chair), that’s quite the feat! The only things NOT in the truck were:
- A rocking chair that went with the kitchen table I’d forgotten (thanks again mom for shipping that after-the-fact!)
- My computer stuff, which I [foolishly] entrusted to FedEx
- The two cats who were traveling by plane with me, because they’re family
- A checked bag (they were still free back then) of clothes to last until the truck got to Dallas
- A carry-on bag with reading materials, MP3 player, computer backup (take no chances!) and some clothing in case the checked bag didn’t make it on the same flights as I was on
So, this is a reset of sorts, going over everything that has been accumulated since then, and evaluating its purpose and value in my life, keeping only what is truly important or of value. That’s a bit of a loaded adjective, so I’ll qualify it (“value”) as something that is of either
- Of physical/practical importance to me
- STRONGLY emotionally significant to me or some part of my life
- Adds value by helping, or would burden me in some significant manner if I were to no longer have it available.
As I think of things I might be giving up over the year, I worry that 365 things might be slightly ambitious, like jumping over my house without a running start (or a jet-pack), but then I look around, and I’m certain I’m saddled with well more than 365 anchors of all types. A cleanse is like eating an elephant – you take it one bite at a time.