Stuff and Tornados

Carrie and I have made great headway on the garage already. The process has been paralyzing for me for a few years, but over the last couple of weeks, she has been patiently helping me get to a clearer state of mind by helping me have a cleaner garage. The process has uncovered multiple mental blocks I’m excited to soon find myself beyond. The first step is figuring out what the hell needs to stay and why.

On another note, we moved to Nashville, TN across from a property that lost eighteen very big trees just last year from a tornado. We also got our first “tornados might be coming” moment; we got to spend some time watching weather experts while cozying up in a seemingly-pretend-protective hallway. Our home didn’t have a tornado shelter when we moved in, and after cozying up with pretend protection, we now have a bonafide tornado shelter in the garage.

I told Carrie the other day that I was happy we had a place for the family to be safe during a tornado, and I wouldn’t mind if a tornado wiped everything else away—the idea felt more romantic than tragic when saying it. On some levels this is true—it feels easier for a tornado to get rid of things for me. In other ways, I know I need to come to terms with what and how to engage with the things I own: many of my things are things I appreciate and enjoy. I have too much stuff because of circumstance and mindset.

What I’m about to say is to share context and not to pander to your (or my) acceptance of the current condition.

In Colorado, we had a house that needed tools. I had a car that needed tools. Carrie had a vehicle that needed tools. We had a production van that needed tools. We had a crew car that needed a toolkit. We had a trailer that needed a toolkit. We had a production van that needed tools. We had a 4,500-square-foot film studio that needed a lot of different tools. The studio needed grip gear. The house needed some grip and lighting gear. The grip van needed grip gear. Tools got old or broke and we bought new ones while the old ones sometimes stuck around. Production equipment got old, and we bought replacements. The team grew and we needed more of everything: computers, cables, monitors, hard drives, lenses, cameras, random tool X, cool gadget Y, and everything in between. We had desks, chairs, rugs, lamps, mops, brooms, table-top lights, Christmas decor, signage, label makers, printers, cleaning tools and supplies, light stands, mics, networking tools, seasonal tires for multiple vehicles, and of course, a refrigerator or two. The list goes on.

By the time the pandemic hit, we had already downsized the company, and our non-local traveling work supported us; we had no need for a local studio. The studio got packed down and moved to our house. More specifically, it mostly moved to the garage in our home. 

As I go through the production gear, I’m met with item “A” belonging to kit “Orange” and tool “415638” matching a piece of gear I’m not sure I will use anymore. I also find pieces of gear I didn’t buy. I also find other gear I had before that someone else didn’t know I had and rebought.

Also…
I like to build things and am interested in new skillsets and the tools that accompany them.

Also…
I like to always have the right tool for the right job: especially when others are in need of it.

Also…
I got tools from my dad who got tools from his dad. I also got some great tools from the guy who used to live in the house we lived in. Also, I got some of my favorite tools from friends who upgraded or no longer needed them.

Also…
I love to have enough hardware to prevent trips to the hardware store 90% of the time.

TOO. MUCH. STUFF.
SOME STUFF RELIEVES TRAUMA.
SOME STUFF REMINDS TRAUMA.

I feel like a minimalist in a hoarder’s life. A lot of the things I “own” are more in ownership of me than I am in ownership of them. To the best of my knowledge, they don’t know I own them: they just exist.

When I give away a hammer that’s not my best one, it might end up in the trash. Its feelings are unlikely to be hurt. It’s a hammer that did its job that now accompanies trash that probably did its job. I’m still thankful for the time I had with it all.

When I know an item is actually still worth $75, $130, $3k, or more, it’s hard to give away to someone who might not use it or throw it away: even though it might end up next to items that also did their job for me (or the person I got it from).

Taking the time or asking someone else to take the time to sell the items feels daunting and distracting. I have to get to the point of why I’m here and how I got here.

I want to create—creating things brings me joy.

If that’s true, I have to choose which items stay and which items are thanked for their time before being let go (sold, given, or put in the trash).

When looking at an item, I’m going to ask, “does it disable me or enable me to create?” If it disables creating, it needs to go. If it enables creating, it still has a purpose and stays.

Our garage is already in much less disarray than it was when we started. I’m also aware that the hard work has just begun; and begun, it has.