stuff·itis [stuhf-i’tis] An unnecessary inflammation of the quantity of stuff owned

Another trash bag hauled to the curb.  Another carload dropped off at Goodwill.  Another cupboard cleared out and empty.

I’m embarrassed at the quantity of expendable junk we’ve accumulated over sixteen years of marriage and thirteen years of parenting, junk we’re now all too happy to kick to the curb or donate to the unwashed masses.  I wish we could reclaim even a fraction of the cash we spent on merchandise once-upon-a-time deemed a good idea when it beckoned to us brand-new at the store. “You want me!”

How long did the excitement of owning this stuff endure before it sat lost and forgotten in the back of some closet?  As we open another drawer armed with boxes and packing tape in one hand and trash bags in the other, we pull stuff out and weigh it in the balance:  Keep it or trash it?

Some closets bring a flood of memories as we discover long lost or forgotten treasures.  A love note I wrote to Cari on her birthday fourteen years ago.  A photograph of a shirtless and much younger Tanner gleefully riding his first bike in the back yard. I’d once searched for that photograph in vain.   Just today we unearthed a hand-made coupon book Andi had given  me years ago.  “A back skratch” and “A foot rub with loshun” were just two of the items I apparently never redeemed.   “No expiration date!” I say as I show it her.

Other closets bring remorse as they reveal the extent from which we suffer from stuffitis.  A winter coat for which I paid $50.00 and wore maybe twice is sold to Plato’s Closet for $13.00.  The rest of the items we’d hoped to sell are politely shoved back at us with a “No Thanks” note attached, and a few minutes later are unceremoniously dumped at Goodwill.   Hopefully their next owner will appreciate how much we paid for them and how little we wore them.

Happily, we do stumble across the rare item which has been used extensively and is now properly and respectfully worn out.  My running shoes which have seen three marathons, two half marathons, a Ragnar, and all the training in-between.    School backpacks with holes worn in the corners from heavy text books.  A collection of various sized baseball gloves all threadbare and sun bleached.  Soccer cleats caked with mud and smelling of sweaty feet.

As each item is yanked from its resting place, we sort it into one of five piles:

1. Bring it to the island
2. Put it in storage
3. Sell it
4. Donate it
5. Throw it away

And as we sort, I feel a weight lifting as we become just a little lighter and a little less encumbered.  I am looking forward to moving to a place where the only possessions we can bring are those allowed on the airplane.  Two suit cases and a carry on.  If it doesn’t fit, it stays behind.  Prioritize. Choose well. De-clutter. Un-junk.

Most of all, I am hopeful that this current process of un-stuffing will result in a refinement of future shopping.  I don’t like suffering from stuffitis.   And I want to declare myself cured.