Grateful for...stuff.

I've had this feeling. It's been growing- waxing and waning since about May. It's this overwhelming, but not scary, sense of gratitude. A sense that the town crier shouting, "12:00 and all is we-lll," is maybe, just maybe correct. It's late-- past my bedtime for sure. But this peaceful gratitude-- it means All Is Well. 

All is well? Yes. In two days, I'll be out of my apartment. My apartment was my safe haven, my cozy little spot. It was under 400 square feet-- just a rectangle with a closet, a bathroom, a kitchen, and lots of windows. Since I moved in my sedan, I didn't have furniture. So in August of last year, I was in little apartment with a slightly leaky loaned air mattress and a few boxes, bags, and suitcases of my things. I had a few things shipped from Georgia; I went to Goodwill, Bed, Bath & Beyond, Ikea, and Target; I checked freecycle and on Craigslist. I found an amazing amount of treasure next to the dumpster on my street, just waiting to be discarded, but with a former owner who hoped it could get some more use. Somehow, that little rectangle box with good windows-- it became home. It had my magnets. My cards. My pictures. My books. Somehow, all those things become you, even though 'you' aren't 'stuff,' our 'stuff' makes us feel like we belong. Have roots. 

In August last year, I bought a futon to sleep on. In November, I decided I was too damn old to sleep on a futon, so I bought a bed. That was a good choice. My little apartment with good windows had a rug, shelves, plants. The plants came from freecycle with many of the pots from Goodwill. Amazing what plants will do for a living space. 

But a year has come and gone. I've added clothes and accessories to my wardrobe I never needed before my life up here at 5280 feet. Snow boots, thermal layers, woolen socks, a headband with a hole for my ponytail. Hiking gear, running gear, picnic-in-the-park gear. I noticed it when I moved, and it became true for me-- I think Denver people don't mind having small apartments-- because they get to spend so much time in this great grand wonderful outdoors. The sun is shining 300 days a year-- even when it's cold, it's rarely miserable out.

All of that stuff came in-- one bag or box at a time and all of it had to leave too. So, here we are and I'm back to being grateful. I sublet my apartment (shh!) while I was in Atlanta for a conference and much-needed family time and it turned out to be the best situation for both of us. My "housesitter" was recently out of a bad relationship and needed a homebase that wasn't squatting on her well-meaning friends' couches. She kept the place clean and nice and took care of my furniture. She's a photographer and makes beautiful art. She paid on time and in full. Can't be anything but grateful there. 

And here I am again, feeling grateful. A mom I met, selling her that futon that I got back in August, pointed out that she "meets the nicest people on Craigslist." I couldn't agree more. For all that furniture that I required to make my little space mine, a lot of it had to go. The counter stools, the futon, the ottomans, the mounted dish rack, the vacuum, the bed. One by one-- with ads on Facebook (a bust!), posted by apartment laundry rooms and door frames (a bust!), and craigslist ads, I got rid of those pieces one by one. I haven't met one mean person on craigslist. They've all been grateful for the deal they got and excited for the "new to them" from my home to theirs. Two of the women I met selling things I no longer needed? Also started out, this summer instead of last, with a car full of stuff and nothing else-- departing from "back East" to this haven of buildings, mountains, and rivers in Colorado. Something so poetic and cyclical about getting the things that I needed to replace to someone in nearly the same situation, a calendar's turn around the sun later. 

For all those things I "needed," I realized I had too much. I gave away items on freecycle. I placed books in Little Free Libraries. I brought a load of odds and ends to the Goodwill (the cycle continues!). And somehow, my Christopher could stop gently correcting me for saying "your" apartment to "our" apartment. My magnets and books and jewelry and things were incorporated with his books and video games and art and Das Boot memorabilia. The stuff? It's our stuff. Or it's now someone else's. Lots to be grateful for tonight.  

Farewell little Dexter St. apartment. We had good times. 

So what about you? Could you distill your life into a few small boxes and bags? Fit everything in the space of a car? What stuff would you get rid of in your life...if you dared?