As I was rummaging through my bedroom closet, the coat closet, the back office closet and time was running out before I HAD TO leave the house, I kept saying to myself, "I can't believe I would have gotten rid of it. I just can't believe I'd do that." But it wasn't there.
A few months ago, I made a first pass at weeding my wardrobe to prep for an eventual move to Vienna. Who wants to cart boxes and boxes of clothes and stuff across the ocean!? I went through my closet, drawers, shelves - clothes, shoes, handbags....everything. I was feeling pretty focused and intent on making a dent; I followed the Use Rule (how often do you wear/use it) and I was pretty ruthless. And I made some pretty good decisions - since the Big Clean, I haven't reached into the closet to find something, only to realize it is no longer a part of my life. Until yesterday.
Strictly following the Use Rule, the purse wouldn't have made the cut, so I can see myself putting it in the To Go pile. But it is the ONLY brown purse I own. As much as I hate to admit it, I am a matchy-matchy girl. My shoes and purse must match my outfit or I feel off all day. I just couldn't imagine that I'd have let the drive for minimalism trump the need to have one brown purse for those non-black-wearing days, few as they may be.
Lo and behold, just in the nick of Gotta-Get-Outta-Here time, I found it. On the closet floor, underneath shoe boxes and various other items. Of course I didn't get rid of it. A sigh of relief and a huge smile. I felt such joy! And then I felt a little silly, feeling such happiness about a purse. I spent the day pondering the idea of the things we own, the things we each choose to put an emphasis on, and how we use them to define ourselves - to ourself and to others. In light of moving and wanting to pare down to basics, what it would mean to not have some of these things? Would I feel like myself in Vienna if I got there and didn't have all my *stuff*? I'm not a very sentimental person. I don't hold on to objects, trinkets, or knick-knacks much. A few family items, but mostly books and clothes. That's me, that's my stuff.
A friend recently asked me and my husband what we were planning to take with us to Vienna. "Just a few suitcases?" he asked. My husband nodded, yes. I shook my head, vehemently, No! I probably also had a look of utter disbelief and horror on my face - a couple suitcases!?
I do have every desire to pare down to the basics and I understand the need to do so in planning an international move, but the basics for me is a totally different thing than the basics for my husband. The question is...is it actually necessary to own three pair of black pants? Really? I keep telling myself - no, it's not, you can do better, get by with less (and there is a sense of accomplishment and pride in being minimalist, I do feel it), but, while they may all be black, these pants are all different styles, they create different looks and reflect different moods.
Since the time I could put my own outfits together, I've felt that the way I dress is my personal means of artistic, creative expression (Much to my mother's chagrin at times. But in my defense, I came of age in the 1980s - think Madonna, Flashdance, big hair, jelly bracelets - what was a girl to do?). I have grown into my own style since those high school, testing-the-self-expression-waters days. Sometimes classic, sometimes quirky, always a little different and always very Me (whatever that really means). To be Me, I need these three pair of black pants and a brown purse that I only use once every few months.
It's not a matter of being owned by my stuff, being a slave to consumerism and trends. Most of what I own, I've had for years. I do shop, but I only buy what I really need and want now and I keep and wear things for a long time. My wardrobe is my history, my story, in a way. To trim it to what would fit in a couple suitcases would be like cutting off an arm. Oh the drama! But it's true! Am I crazy? Am I my stuff? Or is my stuff a part of me?
