Sometimes stuff is just stuff and we forget that

Sometimes stuff is just stuff.
Sometimes things are just things.
But sometimes we forget to see that.

Things and places get comfortable. The routines we place in them safe no matter how unhappy, uncomfortable or joyous they make us. As much as we and are world are in a state of constant flux, we love to have our routines, our things that make things make sense in this crazy world.

When I was in Australia I had 12.5kgs 27.5lbs. Plus my carry on, which admittedly had my heaviest gear (camera, lenses, laptop). On my way back, jeans packed in my bag, and souvenirs stuffed in every nook and cranny I only had 16.2kg (35.7lbs). The amount of stuff I had, considering I had my most needed tech/camera stuff, and dance stuff enough to last me through a week of yoga and dance classes if I played things right… i didn’t have that much. but, to live and enjoy myself, really I had more than I needed. From time to time there was a thing or two I needed, but I doubt I even needed wanted a kilo of extra gear. We forget that we don’t really need as much as we have.

I have boxes full of things in storage at my grandmas, not a lot, but enough that I feel the weight of it. My room is full of books and more clothes than I need in two weeks (maybe a month if I rewash socks and anything designed for sweating). I’ve got things that get used a few times a year and the rest of the time they hide out of sight. I own books I’ve read, that I may never open again, but I like to look at them all. I have almost every pair of pointe shoes I’ve ever worn. There are a lot.

But… really these things are just things.
Very few have any real meaning.
And the ones that do, the memories are stronger.
The sights in my head I’ve committed to paper.
The images I’ve captured and saved in a string of 1s & 0s.

and the rest of the things, when I stay near them too much, they start meaning things that no one said. I see them all the time, so my brain starts thinking that I need it. Just incase. Just. In. Case. Except when I leave it behind, even half the stuff I use regularly… I don’t need it. Hardly just in case. Some things are useful, tools, but things and in the long run, if need by replaceable.

Memories.
Photographs.
Words.

These things matter.
I sacrifice a modicum of privacy (maybe a lot) to save them out in the public eye. Some I try to save, enough that one loss won’t cause me to lose it all. And then, the back up of back ups, my mind. The thing I can hold on to as long as it lets me. The big part of the part that matters most.

Me.

And what I can carry with me. In my memory, in my hand, on my back. What I give myself access to on the world wide web. The people and things around me. Because things are just things. I threw my favorite pair of jeans in a trash can in Sydney because they ripped; my wallet $80 lighter I had a new pair, enough to look good and do their job.

To live happily I don’t need much. Some clothes for movement, some clothes for every day, some clothes for dressing up and concerts. My camera gear, a laptop and internet. Simple. I need to be warm when it’s cold and to cool off when it isn’t. I need friends, or potential friends. Opportunity and a strong will to run where the wind is blowing if the wind is favorable. The determination to fight against it when it blows me where I don’t want to go. And maybe the strength to know the difference between favorable and comfortable. Because when I get too comfortable things start meaning things, routines start meaning things. And really it just means I know what to expect and life doesn’t have an opportunity to surprise me.

Because stuff is just stuff. Even when it has meaning. What really matters is what it means and that lives on in our memory.

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Author: Monica

punk rock ballerina. writer. adventurer.

2 thoughts on “Sometimes stuff is just stuff and we forget that”

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