Stuff. I've got loads of it... and most of it (I've come to realize recently) is completely unnecessary. In undertaking the arduous task of packing all of my stuff, I've found that I own approximately 5 gajillion pens, stock 40 types of salad dressing, and have saved (in the most surprising locations- sock drawer?!) each pay stub from every job I've ever held. Now how did I acquire, or rather retain, this much pointless... let's call it what it is: crap? The only explanation I've come to is a delicate balance of invisibility and stability. Allow me to elaborate.
To retain any volume of "stuff", which I'm broadly defining as "the things we carry," one must have a certain degree of stability. For example, the majority of my clients carry all of their stuff in a single and meticulously organized pack. Actively pursuing an addiction doesn't lend itself to stability and thus the things my clients carry are few. In three years I've searched the packs of hundreds if not thousands of indigent addicts and alcoholics and have made some bizarre finds: half-eaten sausages, transcendental literature, hammer and a ski mask (yikes). But by and large my clients have been reduced to owning only the necessities: food, clothing, and some method for managing the mind (sometimes the Bible, sometimes crinkled photos of kids taken away, often 40 oz. of liquid escape).
I remember one particular incident when my coworkers and I took a client's clothes and replaced them with our stock blue flannel PJs (standard practice when putting someone on a hold). As it turns out, the embarrassment of publicly sporting jammies can be quite effective at keeping drunk clients from splitting. In any case, this client would not be deterred from his pursuit of the next drink by a silly set of flannels! Instead, he decided to "borrow" the shirt of a passed out, mentally unstable, straight-up crazy homeless man before "escaping" out the window. I became aware of his transgression when the formerly passed out came storming down the hall, tongue ablaze with garbled but obvious insults.
Alas, our escapee would not enjoy his freedom for long and was soon returned by a pair of irritated Boulder uniforms. Naturally, I pondered how to prevent the melee that would certainly ensue when I returned the shirt and the two clients reunited. As a courtesy, I decided to ask Mr. Bare Chest if he wanted to press charges for the theft of his shirt. I'll never forget it, even in his drunken state with eyes wild from whiskey, he said, "He must have needed it more than me." Perspective is a funny thing... and sometimes intelligent and caring philosophies are revealed in the most unexpected ways. It's a good reminder for me to keep my ears open, even and especially when I'm not expecting to hear anything worthwhile.
I remember one particular incident when my coworkers and I took a client's clothes and replaced them with our stock blue flannel PJs (standard practice when putting someone on a hold). As it turns out, the embarrassment of publicly sporting jammies can be quite effective at keeping drunk clients from splitting. In any case, this client would not be deterred from his pursuit of the next drink by a silly set of flannels! Instead, he decided to "borrow" the shirt of a passed out, mentally unstable, straight-up crazy homeless man before "escaping" out the window. I became aware of his transgression when the formerly passed out came storming down the hall, tongue ablaze with garbled but obvious insults.
Alas, our escapee would not enjoy his freedom for long and was soon returned by a pair of irritated Boulder uniforms. Naturally, I pondered how to prevent the melee that would certainly ensue when I returned the shirt and the two clients reunited. As a courtesy, I decided to ask Mr. Bare Chest if he wanted to press charges for the theft of his shirt. I'll never forget it, even in his drunken state with eyes wild from whiskey, he said, "He must have needed it more than me." Perspective is a funny thing... and sometimes intelligent and caring philosophies are revealed in the most unexpected ways. It's a good reminder for me to keep my ears open, even and especially when I'm not expecting to hear anything worthwhile.
I, on the other hand, have had stable housing all of my life. It's only in those dreaded times of relocation that I've been forced to examine the necessity of the things I carry. So yesterday, in the midst of 4 hours of dreaded time, I bagged up some of the stuff I really don't need and meticulously labeled it for its trip to the local donation center. I did this a while back with all the clothing that no longer fit as a result of my weight loss. I kept having premonitions of admitting clients wearing oddly familiar shirts and jeans with the bottom cuffs worn out. Of course this would be followed by a swell of pride and gratification for "doing my part." But isn't my part better done by not consuming and accumulating this crap to begin with? Which brings me to the other part of the balance of possession: invisibility.
In keeping with the American desire to drive the bigger Hummer, own the latest mega-computer, and sport those $150 jeans that everyone is wearing these days, its easy to turn a blind eye to all the stuff we acquired before our focus turned to that fancy new dining set we're lusting over. [Sidebar: nobody actually wants a fancy new dining set, which is why its the hallmark of the "lesser" showcase on the Price is Right showcase showdown. Everyone knows you bid on the showcase with the trip to New Zealand- hello!?] I propose that in concert with stability it is that focus on the new and next which has made all I already have nearly invisible. Thus the 50 gajillion pens. Something about packing the things I carry has dropped the veil of invisibility. Suddenly I'm acutely aware of all I have, and the swell isn't pride and gratification but embarrassment and gratitude.
This is getting long and hypocritical as I sit amongst plenty which is not bagged and meticulously labeled for donation. Progress not perfection, I guess.
In keeping with the American desire to drive the bigger Hummer, own the latest mega-computer, and sport those $150 jeans that everyone is wearing these days, its easy to turn a blind eye to all the stuff we acquired before our focus turned to that fancy new dining set we're lusting over. [Sidebar: nobody actually wants a fancy new dining set, which is why its the hallmark of the "lesser" showcase on the Price is Right showcase showdown. Everyone knows you bid on the showcase with the trip to New Zealand- hello!?] I propose that in concert with stability it is that focus on the new and next which has made all I already have nearly invisible. Thus the 50 gajillion pens. Something about packing the things I carry has dropped the veil of invisibility. Suddenly I'm acutely aware of all I have, and the swell isn't pride and gratification but embarrassment and gratitude.
This is getting long and hypocritical as I sit amongst plenty which is not bagged and meticulously labeled for donation. Progress not perfection, I guess.
"An object in possession seldom retains the same charm that it had in pursuit."
–Pliny the Younger
–Pliny the Younger
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