Freshman year of college, my mom called to say she had sold our childhood home and needed help cleaning out the basement. Before the buyers did their walkthrough. In just 48 hours….

Like most, our basement growing up housed an inordinate number of toys, clothes, bad photos and construction paper school projects. And I didn’t know what to do. I had nowhere to put anything, even if I wanted to keep it. I lived in the dorms, and my mom was moving to an apartment.

So, I rented a roll-off dumpster and started hauling stuff up and out.

On one of my trips, I saw my dad, standing waist-deep in the dumpster, holding a kid-size rocking chair. He was moving things from the dumpster to his truck, and he was not happy with me for throwing away our memories.

It turned out to be one of my first lessons about stuff. I hadn’t really thought much about it (or had to) before. My parents gave me all I needed and quite a bit of what I wanted, so my old belongings didn’t mean much to me. (Clearly, since I was in the process of tossing them!)

My dad is one of 12 kids and, growing up on a construction superintendent’s salary in rural Iowa, his family didn’t have a lot. Not surprisingly, he had a different view of our stuff than me.

For one, he took pride in being able to provide for my brother and me. But he also cherished the memories associated with the stuff he bought us. My brother’s John Deere peddle tractor isn’t just a toy, it is a memory of him tearing around on it, wagon in tow, kicking up gravel from the driveway as he turned. And those Snoopy fishing poles bring to mind my brother and I, about four and six, seeing what we could catch from the top of a plywood box in the yard. (The answer is nothing, but we had fun!)

Like so many things in life, there are healthy and unhealthy aspects to stuff. I like to think my dad’s attachment to stuff is healthy. For him, it was about providing for and preserving the good times. It’s when we allow ourselves to obsess over it — how much, what brands, whether it’s new enough, who has it vs. who doesn’t — that it becomes problematic.

As Joshua Becker, author of “The More of Less,” puts it, “Minimalism is not that you should own nothing. But that nothing should own you.”

Don’t get me wrong, I still have plenty of stuff. Including the Holiday Barbies my dad regifted me from the dumpster rescue mission once I was old enough to have my own basement storage. But lately, I’ve become more convicted about moving toward minimalism.

I’m realizing the pursuit of stuff, which in a lot of ways is how our society measures success, can leave you feeling empty and constantly wanting more. I never seem to have a clear view of what more is, why it matters and how much will be enough. But I do know, deep down, that no amount of stuff will fill the hole I’m trying to fill by buying it.

Now that I’m paying closer attention, I’m seeing how much damage an unhealthy focus on stuff can do… To families arguing about who should get what from a loved one’s estate — sometimes creating irreparable harm to their relationships. To our friends and neighbors when we judge or pick them based on the cars and houses they own (or don’t), the clothes they wear and trips they take. Or, to ourselves, when we gauge our own worth based on what we have and how it compares to others.

I’ve taken this whole topic to a pretty deep place, but for Becker, it started with the basic realization that his stuff — the maintenance of it, cleaning it up, organizing it, etc. — was consuming his precious time. For him, the journey to minimalism started with a desire to simplify and reprioritize. If you’re similarly intrigued, check him out at: https://www.becomingminimalist.com/.

If you’ll excuse me though, an overflowing basement storage area is calling my name, and I need to clear the shopping carts I currently have open with several online retailers…

The Problem with Stuff

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