Owning stuff

I was a teenager who would eat up all the contents about minimalism and decluttering. Over ten years ago, when I was barely out of middle school, I made it a point to only possess a certain number of items, to eliminate the “inessentials” from my life, and to not buy things I didn’t need altogether. I was so deep in this subculture of “lifestyle minimalism” (not the art or music side of it) that I ended up being a teen with only black and white clothes, and just enough duplicates of the same outfit so I would maintain a “uniform” look all the time. I set limits, made inventories, and passionately denounced consumerism whenever I had the chance. Although I’m nowhere near as obsessive as I used to be, some of these behaviors have stuck with me over the years. I deliberate extensively and perhaps unnecessarily prior to buying anything, travel with as little baggage as I can (sometimes surprising people with how little I carry with me), and commit to an “anti-buy” philosophy rather than “buy”. One of my most enduring fantasies is to be able to live out of a suitcase (that is, having everything I own in a suitcase that can go with me anywhere). I am no longer convinced of the feasibility or psychological value of this scenario, but the idea remains a great tool for me to think twice before acquiring “stuff”. I often ask myself, “If I bought this, would it likely go in my “lifetime suitcase”?” The answer to this question already gives me a pretty telling conclusion on whether the purchase is worth it.

Despite my presumed prejudice against owning “stuff”, I don’t deny the role it plays in my life (our lives, for that matter). In a way, our possessions serve as a reflection of our inner selves, curated with care to tell the unique story of our lives. Each item is a treasure trove of memories and experiences, reminding us of the people and places that have shaped us into who we are today. In a constantly changing world, our possessions provide a comforting sense of continuity and stability, anchoring us in a sea of uncertainty. They are the physical embodiment of our values, creativity, and individuality, and serve as a means of communication to the outside world. The tangibility of “stuff” conveys meanings about ourselves, and through our possessing “stuff”, these meanings somehow become more permanent, more sturdy, more secure. Our history doesn’t dissipate as our memory gradually flickers out, because we have the artifacts to remind ourselves and the world of what we have lived through.

Perhaps that’s why people buy souvenirs when they travel, because these items, especially in the forms of key chains, magnets, or t-shirts, almost always spell out explicitly the location where they come into people’s possession. The memories of these places could always stay there, more conveniently conjured when we spot these little trinkets in our overcrowded home. I doubt our recollection of the trips is enhanced by the mere presence of these souvenirs in most cases. Yet, something about having these at our disposal marks a connection to the place, because it is a proof that we have been there, it has been part of our story, and it is not going anywhere. Of course, it’s silly to think about it that way when many people probably just hurriedly grab these trinkets out of a sea of vaguely similar ones, get them through the cashier, and drop them at the bottom of the suitcases in a matter of minutes without much thought. The transiency and superficiality of these associations is almost absurd against our intention of having long-lasting memories.

Besides memory-keeping, “stuff” is often adopted to also be symbolic and representative of our identities. We opt to acquire something because we have been sold by marketers the idea that the item can bring out a certain desirable identity of ourselves. A lipstick makes us attractive, a smartphone makes us modern, a fancy car makes us luxurious, a camera makes us artistically inclined, a massive book collection makes us smart, souvenirs from trips make us well-traveled. We use our time, money, and energy chasing after things that are advertised to enhance a part of our ego. Sometimes it does provide the effect that helps us channel this particular identity upon purchasing an item. And other times, it just falls flat as we realize the false promise delivered from marketers, but only shortly before we turn elsewhere for other “stuff” to help fulfill our wish.

What is even more ridiculous is that, after we have obtained these things to emulate the identities our hearts so desire, we somehow find it ten times harder to let go of them than to dismiss the yearning for these items prior to our purchases. Have you thought about how difficult it is to let go of something you have already owned, or to cope with the loss of it? Besides the costs we have already paid for it, the idea of breaking down the identity that comes with the item is also painful and unfathomable. By getting rid of something already in our possession, we are losing the identity it represents, or giving up on it if it has yet to actualize. So we get excessively attached and hold on to whatever we might, while the accumulation persists endlessly.

I write this blog post not to challenge or discount the personal fulfillment that each individual may experience with “stuff”. I myself quite often enjoy having access to “stuff” and using it. If I have to make a list of all the things that have brought me genuine enjoyment and fulfillment, I can readily do so. What I find rather disturbing is how overblown the experience of owning something is in our minds when we set our eyes on it as a potential purchase, or when we ponder on the possibility of letting it go. On the one hand, “stuff” can be meaningful and a source of personal comfort. On the other hand, I find it overtly controlling and distracting when its values are conflated with a sense of ego characterized by exclusive and guarded possession, permanent attachment, and shallow becoming only through the act of acquiring something rather than working for it. The fulfillment that “stuff” offers escalates into a subconscious dependence on it and wish for exclusive ownership of it, signified by our constant craving and inability to peacefully let go of something.

What I’m trying to drive home is the distinction between having access to or use for “stuff”, and being in possession of it, as the primary value of “stuff”. I may be biased to the discourses of “sharing”, “collective”, and “communal” (wow how political of me to write this in a blog post about “stuff”!), but I genuinely wonder if distancing ourselves from the obsession with ownership may liberate us from misjudging the values that “stuff” can offer. We care about building a continuous and lasting narrative of our lives, but often jump at the conclusion that owning things which represent that narrative is the best or even only way to do so. I tend to be skeptical towards this idea, and can elaborate on how some of my most meaningful “stuff” have been shared/sharable resources that only stay with me temporarily before being passed to someone else. From library books to toys and clothing items that I outgrow, from borrowed art supplies to shared decorations in common spaces – these undoubtedly bring more joy than the mini surge of comfort derived from knowing that I have convenient, exclusive access to an item for life.

Then there is the distinction between tangible versus intangible possessions, like owning a souvenir from Hawaii or having photos, stories, and connections to share about that same Hawaii trip. The former feels permanent, memory-loss-proof, but also surprisingly trivial if we continue to collect hundreds of other souvenirs over the years. The latter is an unreliable device for writing and keeping our history, but to me its value is multiplied from the mere significance of committing it to our memories without relying on something we have cursorily picked out. Then when these stories are shared and discussed, we (respectfully, I hope) invite others to join in on the experience, partially solidifying it without the need for a physical, privately owned token.

I think my writing about and sharing personal thoughts and experiences through platforms like this blog is a form of “intangible communality”. I get to share snippets of my life that make up my personal narrative, and welcome similar practices of sharing from others even if no one bothers to partake in it. That way, we build a collective narrative that is in many ways more enriched, deepened, and wonderful. Even material things, when shared and used with respect, may grant us not only more practical usage out of them, but also more social cohesiveness, emotional nuances, and cognitive richness. In the end, I think “stuff” is far from a menace to society as my teenage self would have argued. We may not shift the way we chase “stuff” for fulfillment of personal identities any time soon, but gradually dismantling the myth of private ownership being the only way to realize these identities can somewhat relieve the burden that “stuff” has on our lives and the planet.