Picture this: I’m driving my fifth carload of stuff from my rental place to my new home. I’m sweaty, tired, and sick of traffic. I ache all over. I’m so done with this whole process. And then my car signals me that one of my doors is ajar.
This is a 25 mile commute from one house to the other, entirely on the interstate, cutting right through the heart of Seattle. (If you haven’t experienced Seattle traffic, you are one lucky human being, indeed. There’s nothing quite like it.) And I was in the express lane, so there were no exits for miles. Suffice it to say there was no possible way for me to pull over and deal with my doors.
So there I was, hurtling down the interstate, with images of my door popping open and scattering my possessions all over the road, causing a 50 car pile-up.
It was not a fun drive.
And then I began thinking about those possessions. Assuming that I didn’t kill people in the process, would I miss them if I left them on the highway? To be honest, no. Not for the most part, anyway. I think I’d actually find it to be a relief if I had less stuff in my life.
I’ve been trying to eliminate things, and I definitely have a lot less than I did when I was in Florida. But I still have a lot. As I was packing, I’d ask myself if I had used that thing in the past year. Did I need it? Did it have sentimental value?
Maybe from now on I should ask myself if I’d be upset if each thing wound up sitting on the side of the interstate like that unexplained lone shoe that you encounter every now and then. Now that is a yardstick to measure things by.