Which is worse? Enduring a night of karaoke sung by Gilbert Gottfried or telling your mother that you’re giving up your career and apartment to live in a van for two years? It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have to answer the question: What are you going to do with all your stuff? Because the answer is: how do you think we’re buying a van? Which, inevitably, leads to the follow-up question: What are you going to do when you get back? And what that question really means is: If you do this, you will be throwing your life away, everything you have worked for and the past 30 years will have been pointless.
So is your life more worthwhile if you finish with more stuff or more memories? And obviously you want to come out of it with more memories and more experiences that help shape who you become as a person.
But it’s amazing how attached to your stuff you become. Like once you invite it home and find just the right place for it to live, it becomes part of your family. It’s not as easy as you once thought to sell your little brother.
We don’t need to be surrounded by stuff, it’s just something that happens when we stay in one place too long. And most of that is junk because let’s face it, 90% of what we own now either comes from Ikea or is mass produced by children in China.
It’s not the stuff I’m having difficulty giving up it’s having to tell my mom. We’re having dinner on Thursday where I plan to break the news. I’m guessing (and this is based on a lifetime of experience) that it’s going to be a bit of an ordeal. You see, while my mom loves to travel herself, she likes to do it the old fashioned way, she actually pays for it ahead of time.
We’re going for sushi, which in the long tradition of my family means: I have some big news to unload on you. So maybe she knows it’s coming already.
P.S. If you live in the GTA and you’re looking for relatively inexpensive stuff that’s been gently used, post a comment.