Clearing Out

Getting ready to leave a place is a strange process. I feel an emotional separation from my own life, like I’m trying to divorce myself from my familiar surroundings. The divorce isn’t final yet, but we’re wrangling over the details. Which books will I keep and which will I give away? Who will get the red teakettle, the corner shelves, the poster-sized photos?

Of course it’s the people I’ve known in Corvallis that I’ll really miss, but household objects still have a strange hold on me. These objects that have surrounded me for so many years, in many ways, create a feeling of home.

Since graduating from college seven years ago, I have moved from place to place with the same table, chairs, shelves, wall hangings, plates and bowls, mugs. Each apartment or house has featured the same furnishings in a different arrangement, a pattern my sister has noticed. You know it’s home--it’s all the same stuff.

Since last July I have known that I was going to move to Scotland when I finished my master’s degree. I’ve never lived outside the U.S.; I’ve never moved further than a couple states away. This move was going to be different, more significant. Suddenly I started looking at my possessions in a new way; I began to look at my things and think, “Hmm, who could I give that to?” I started giving things away, hesitantly at first, then more boldly.

For months now, I’ve been giving away books, plants, kitchen items, and other odds and ends to my friends and family. Wooden spoons, colanders, cookbooks, novels, plants, and clothes have all wandered out the door in the arms of a new owner. I gave away my printer after realizing that, now that graduate school is over, I won’t need to be printing out papers and thesis drafts anymore. Every time a friend comes to visit I won’t let him or her leave without taking something. I absolutely insist!

Much of what I own has been donated to me by other friends who have moved away in recent years. I have always treasured the way that the spirit of a previous owner lingers in household things. All around my house are reminders of friends who are far away—Brenna and Tyler (who moved to Austria) left me their painted coffee table, handmade pinewood shelves, gold upholstered comfy chair, kitchen appliances.

Andy gave me an area rug, plant table, computer desk, bookshelf. The captain’s chair, which I adore with a kind of possessive guilt, wasn’t technically given to me--I carried it off illicitly upon moving years ago.

There are these gorgeous prints my photographer friends Scott and Laura gave me when they were remodeling, of wood and water with beautiful swirling colors.

I want to pass these objects along with the stories that accompany them. I want the new owners to look at the rug and think, “That rug was given to Marieke by Andy and now they’re off in Scotland together. How sweet.” Proud new owners of my domestic objects will repeat my stories in their own way: one might say, “This guy named Tyler made those shelves with his bare hands, and I don’t even know him, but he was Marieke’s friend.”

Or, “This photo, or is it a painting, seems to be swirls in water, or is it wood, and I think it was taken (or painted) by a friend of Marieke’s, but I can’t really remember the details. I just love the texture and the detail right here, though, the way the greens and browns meld.”

At first it was easy to just give away things that I didn’t really want. No big deal. I never used it anyway. But then I had to start giving away things that I genuinely liked and had an attachment to. I had to weigh the value of the object against the advantage of not having to move it across the ocean.

It felt weird at first, when I started to give my beloved household belongings away. It felt a bit sad, like saying goodbye to a friend, knowing you might never see them again. We had some great times together. But the sadness that comes with losing the company of a treasured object is softened by the thought that it has a new home and will continue to serve its purpose. My things will be loved, used, read, broken, mended, passed along.

There have been a few things I’ve had little pangs over… thinking “Oh, maybe I should have kept that book after all.” But for the most part, I’m jazzed that my friends can enjoy my things (now theirs) and pass them along to the next person; my load is lighter, too.

Possessions can be such a burden. They are like so many little charges. We have to take care of them, watch over them, keep them safe. We have to house them, keep them in good working order, monitor their whereabouts. When we’re not careful, they pile up and suddenly our lives are in chaos. This happens to me quite frequently.

I actually suffer from Small Object Overload (SMOBOV) Syndrome, when scraps of paper, cards, erasers, keys, batteries, pretty rocks, pressed flowers, rubber bands, and coasters accumulate in overwhelming numbers. Sometimes I just have to toss them all into a box and stash it in the basement with a vague label like “bookshelf.”

I just can’t seem to deal with all the millions of tiny objects that need to be taken care of, sorted through, categorized, and placed in their proper place. Where in the world is one supposed to file away a pink origami rabbit with a googly eye, anyway? Maybe I can find a new home for it.