#NerdsUnite: Confessions of a ginger (My 2012 Mantra)

Alright, nerds, 2012 is here and I have but one resolution. It's not something I can really simplify into one single sentence or statement, so I'm going to give you some background and then we'll get into the meat of the issue.

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Layne. I forget how we first started talking ... I think it was on twitter, and then we totes became besties on Facebook, and then we started reading each other's blogs and like commenting and like and like and like ... this chick is RAD annndd she's a ginger. No, seriously. Welcome to the world of Layne and the thoughts that are inside of her head. HIT IT GIRL! </editorsnote> 

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @redheadintexas

The last few years have been a bit of a bust with regards to finding my niche when it comes to how I'm paying the bills. (read: employment, career, j-o-b.) From 2008 to mid-2010, I was a paralegal. I worked at two different firms during that time and while things can be stable and secure, they can also be crazy, exhausting, and drama-filled. I worked for litigators or what you may know as trial lawyers. The environment can get a bit chaotic at times, as is the nature of the beast. You're on constant alert, with the calendar and it's many many deadlines, and anything can change or come up at any moment. When trial was coming, the to-do list became a monster, rising up in its haze of copier toner and the sharp scent of a black marks-a-lot used in redacting personal information from trial exhibits. Constant faxes coming and going to and from opposing counsel, the court, and the client. Emails you were about to send out become moot within seconds of clicking "send" as the strategy shifts and rematerializes with new twists and turns. Your survival depends on two things: time and the coffee maker.

All in all, it takes a special kind of person to work in that environment. While I had a lot of fun and learned so many things working as a paralegal, I finally came to the conclusion that I did not want to do it for the rest of my life. I just wasn't passionate about it. I loved getting things done and the satisfaction of being on a winning team, but that wasn't enough to keep me in the game. I worked for some amazing people, who not only had skill, but were passionate about the field. I wanted to feel as they did, but it just never quite "clicked."

When an opportunity came to me, in April 2010, to leave the legal world and work for a start up in the online-dating industry, I took a leap of faith. I left my job as a paralegal (and the firm I was working for was very sad to see me go) and started my new job in mid-May. Unfortunately, it didn't work out. What I learned during that time has changed how I have now chosen to move forward. I was adamant that I would find my own passion, and follow that passion to fruition. The truth is, I was never cut out for the traditional 9 to 5 office gig. I'm just not that girl. No matter how big or small the business, something about clocking in day in and day out, dressing in "business casual" and counting down the hours to the weekend just doesn't quite turn me on, you know? I needed more from my job and I wanted a job that needed more from me. I wanted to be creative, in an organic way, and connect the dots between making money and loving it.

I know this is what many of us want. Some of us have a more difficult time finding it. The problem I kept having was that when opportunities to explore other avenues and careers came along, I would often fall into the same pattern of discontent. Often the need to pay the bills trumped the need to find something I really wanted to do. In this economy, I really couldn't walk away from any kind of stable paycheck, telling myself I was lucky to even have a job, while so many others did not. Though I really enjoyed my stint working for a start-up, the actual concept of it wasn't my passion, but someone else's. I was able to be creative and I learned a lot about collaboration and how things are driven in that industry, as well having my eyes and mind opened to the limitless possibilities of tech and web-based businesses. I also discovered that it was possible to really enjoy a job. Not that I hadn't had a job I loved before, but I suppose you could say this was a more mature experience for me.

Now, I'm self-employed. I've written here before on my current situation as a Gal-Friday for hire, and this is something I just seem to have a knack for. Part of it is that I have a really varied skill-set. I know a lot about a lot of different things. I can organize, delegate, lead, follow, work a to-do list, herd cats, and I pack a mean suitcase. I am the one my clients come to when their lives get too busy and they need to get things off their plate, or when they have a project that needs someone who knows how to coordinate all the details. I am their right-hand, their extra eyes and ears, and their scary assistant who will cut you when something goes wrong. I operate under the mantra of "figure it out." There are times when I am asked to do something I have never done before, but I will figure it out. When things get sticky and plans start to fall through, I am there to execute plan B, C and D. Whatever it takes. And I'm good at it.

Some of the traits you need to be a personal assistant are things like integrity, loyalty, and discretion. My clients trust me with their names, their personal information, keys to their homes, businesses, etc. In other words, I had to earn my good name, and that trust is something I value more than the money. You don't just find jobs like this in the newspaper or via Craig's List. It's a word of mouth thing, and I have to do the rest. There's no check box on surveys for exactly what I do, but there is definitely a need for it. It's paying the bills, and I get to work with people I really like. Every day and every assignment is different, so I never get bored.

So, this brings me to the resolution. For 2012, I resolve not to flake out on myself. Meaning, I will do whatever it takes to keep myself out of standard-issue, 9 to 5, dead-end, soul-sucking jobs. I will find a way to either grow my current business, or explore other alternatives-- whether that's a job doing something completely different, but that I can be passionate about, or continuing my current endeavors in new ways and means. Most importantly, I do not want to go backwards. I don't want to end up in the same dark hole, wishing I were waking up to a job I loved, instead of an obligation. I will be open to the options before me, but I will choose to take on things that bring me closer to independence, not slavery. I will take the path less travelled. I will meet challenges with grit and determination, and consider the destination negligible, as long as the journey is worthwhile.

In essence, I'm trying to break a pattern in my life that has kept me from really confronting my fear of failure. That other people have what I need, instead of the other way around. That I can stand on my own two feet with nothing but my ideas and my work ethic to stay afloat. It may be that this particular adventure leads to something even better, but I will never know if I don't stay the course. I can't expect to write my own paycheck with wishes and hopes. I will not defer my dreams to someone else's passion. I will put my own passion on a pedestal, and give my dreams the respect they deserve, and do whatever it takes to fulfill them. But most of all, I will keep moving forward.

There's a line in an Avett Brothers song called "A Gift For Melody Lane" that has always resonated with me, particularly at the present:

Now when your dreams start saying, "I can't come true, you'd be better off without me." Don't let 'em go. Don't let 'em go.

So I will be holding on to my dreams, and come hell or high water, 2012 will be fruitful, because I plan to show up and make sure of it.

#nerdsunite

Want more from Layne? Click here to follow her on the twitter!

#NerdsUnite: Confessions of a ginger (The Perks of Dating a Rocket Scientist)

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Layne. I forget how we first started talking ... I think it was on twitter, and then we totes became besties on Facebook, and then we started reading each other's blogs and like commenting and like and like and like ... this chick is RAD annndd she's a ginger. No, seriously. Welcome to the world of Layne and the thoughts that are inside of her head. HIT IT GIRL! </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @redheadintexas

I'm sure all of you can agree that there would be many perks to dating a rocket scientist, whether male or female, rocket scientists come in handy for various reasons. Dating anyone with a decent grasp on mechanical, engineering, and/or technologic issues always has its pros. Common sense helps too, but unfortunately, I have a knack in forgoing common sense in the quest for instant gratification. I have been dating a rocket scientist (yes, he works for NASA and no, he does not wear a pocket protector.) for about three years, now, and the following are moments when I couldn't have been more relieved that my counterpart has a certain je ne sais quoi. Shall we?

1. The time my laptop had to be upgraded from Vista to ANYTHING BUT VISTA. Purchasing a Vista laptop was a sketchy moment in my technologic history, I know. And yes, I do in fact, rue the day I did. When I was convinced that at four years of age, my laptop was no more useful than a paperweight, my boyfriend offered to upgrade it to windows7 for me, something which I have never had any luck with (upgrading to a new windows OS, that is). For example, several (*cough* more than ten) years ago, when I got my first laptop to go off to college with, I was cheerfully and happily running Windows98(se). Well, when it came time to upgrade to XP, things went all kinds of wrong. Hard drives had to be partitioned and it took no less than six hours for the damned thing to power up and load my new XP desktop. I mean, once it was up it ran fine… but getting there was miserable. Fast forward to this past May, and the look on my face as I am remembering that horrible experience while the boyfriend is spelling out all the reasons why I should just go ahead and upgrade from Vista to Windows7, and you can imagine my hesitance to do so. Thankfully, with the help of an external hard drive and several bottles of wine, I made it through this upgrade with only one minor meltdown when I thought I had lost all of my email. I didn't. Everything went better than expected.

Score a point for the Rocket Scientist!

2. The time I had to put together an Ikea desk. [insert lame joke here about being mechanically challenged] The execution of assembling any Ikea furniture, lamps, etc. is usually hit or miss. Either it's ridiculously easy or insanely difficult. When we tricked out the closet of his man-cave (turning it into an aptly named Lady Cave), I found the perfect not-too-deep, but wide enough to utilize as much of the available space in said closet desk on Ikea's website. We headed to the Houston location and picked it up, hauled it back to his house and began the dating task of assembly. This project would have been impossible to accomplish alone, as the length of the desk would have made certain steps in the process very awkward. Mainly, attaching the base assembly to the leg assembly. Also, anyone who has ever put anything from Ikea together knows how easily you can end up mixing up parts or installing them backwards due to the ambiguous drawings. These particular drawings were intensely useless due to a number of drawer rails that all looked alike. Thank the gods for the Rocket Scientist, who is used to gleaning all-important information from nearly indecipherable Swedish illustrations. Had I been left to my own devices, I would be typing this atop a cardboard box and not a perfectly assembled desk. 

Score another point for the Rocket Scientist!

3. My first major hike. Back in June 2010, we went on vacation to the Sun Valley, Idaho area. It's beautiful there, and during the summer months, the hiking is amazing. There are tons of places to do day hikes with access in and around Sun Valley, Ketchum and nearby Hailey. My first hike was ten miles. TEN MILES. Five miles up and then right back down. Thankfully, my boyfriend was prepared, because I was not. In fact, I was so unprepared, I'm shocked that I did not kill myself on that mountain out of sheer ignorance. Let's just say that I made an executive decision to cross a stream by foot and not via the slimy, moss-covered tree-bridge ten yards upstream due to the fact that I was terrified of slipping and falling into the stream which I was convinced would result in a broken leg. And when I determined I would remove my hiking boots and socks and placed them on my hands to WALK THROUGH the stream (which was rapidly flowing at a seasonably warm 30 degrees), of course, as soon as I reached the absolute MIDDLE of said stream, I lost my balance, promptly plunged my boot-covered hands into the stream to break my fall, and rendered all my prior cleverness utterly moot. #Fail. 

Why was this a good moment to be dating a rocket scientist? Well, I'll tell you! Two words: contingency plan. (No, seriously. In the world of NASA, no two words are more revered.) While I was wearing heavy cotton socks and non-water proof boots, he was wearing ultra-light moisture-wicking socks underneath another pair of smart-wool hiking socks. Socks that, after removing and tucking inside of his own boots, he was able to throw ACROSS the stream (!!!!), and so were left perfectly dry. So that after I painfully and bare-footedly made my way across the stream, and my boots dried out on a nearby sun-bathed rock, my boyfriend was able to let me wear the lightweight socks he had under his wool ones, which also allowed me to start back down the mountain before dawn (and of course, avoid being eaten by mountain lions and/or a bear). 

Three cheers for the rocket scientist! 

But, before you think rocket scientists know everything… let me tell you about the time that the Rocket Scientist was glad to be dating someone with a mild case of obsessive-compulsive disorder. (Me.) 

It started when he noticed that the baseboard around the sink area of the kitchen seemed to be warped, which led to the discovery that said warping was caused by water. Surely it's the sink, right? He checked all of the connections under and around the sink… no leaks. Uh oh… that meant the leak could be somewhere in the wall, like between the sink and another pipe. Or the foundation. Double uh-oh. He starts to consider the possibility that he may have to cut some exploration holes in the wall. At this point, I stepped in and asked him several questions about other possibilities. Could it be the dishwasher? He insists that it can't be, he checked everything. Even pulled the machine out and looked around the back of it. No water he said. I interrogated him some more and encouraged him to contact a professional, rather than going full DIY. Cue overzealous neighbor with a skill-saw and several hours later, there are no less than four holes in the drywall following a length of pipe. No leaks. But there is a fine layer of drywall particles ALL OVER THE HOUSE. 

Meanwhile, the dishwasher has been running. Water is appearing on the subfloor beneath the now-removed warped baseboards. I insist that it MUST BE the dishwasher. He gets irritated, stating again that he already checked the machine. I push him to check again. So, he pulls the dishwasher out again, and I suggest we let it run a cycle while pulled out away from the wall and counter, so we can watch for water. And then it happened. As the cycle reached a point where the machine uses a small pump to drain the dirty, soapy water out of washer, and I'm face-down on the floor with a flash light, I see a tiny stream of water shooting out of the back of the machine. 

EUREKA! It's the dishwasher!!!

You guys, I would love to say that I was a perfect girlfriend and resisted the urge to say "I told you so," but seeing as there were several holes in the drywall for no reason, after I begged him not to take a power-tool to task on the walls, I couldn't help myself. I did the full-on Grace-from-Will-and-Grace "Told You So" dance:

But he still loves me, even after that. So, yeah… I would say the perks of dating a rocket scientist are pretty good, y'all. 

#thatisall

Want more from Layne? Click here to follow her on the twitter!

#NerdsUnite: Confessions of a ginger (On herding cats)

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Layne. I forget how we first started talking ... I think it was on twitter, and then we totes became besties on Facebook, and then we started reading each other's blogs and like commenting and like and like and like ... this chick is RAD annndd she's a ginger. No, seriously. Welcome to the world of Layne and the thoughts that are inside of her head. HIT IT GIRL! </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @redheadintexas

Sometimes I feel as if I am walking in circles, chasing my own tail,  caught in an eternal to-do list k-hole of never-ending busyness that brings everything in my life together into one giant clusterfuck of WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!? Ever hear the expression "herding cats"? Yeah, that should cover it.

I'm sure you've been there. We all have. And I'm sure you, like me, also experience this phenomenon around this time of year, because let's face it, the holidays combined with the typical end-of-year round up that plenty of people engage in means that everyone has a little extra on their plate, and I'm not just talking about third helpings at the office party buffet. As such, since everyone else is a little busier, it becomes harder to coordinate your crazy with other people's crazy.

I was up to my eyeballs in bubble wrap and packing tape for almost three solid weeks. I have a new client that I started out helping with a fund-raising event and then she realized she really needed some help executing a huge move. We spent almost two weeks just packing, then it took ten days just to get everything moved out of the house and into two apartments and one very large warehouse. The level of coordination required to keep the household, the movers, the art people (who specialize in moving and storing fine art and sculpture), the storage people, the carpenters, the electricians, the plumbers, the networking dudes, and EVERYTHING ELSE all one one page is mind-numbing.

All of that at any time of year would make anyone's head spin, but to do it mid-holiday season was sheer insanity. So when you add that all up and then thrown in my personal life, things got a wee bit hectic in my neck of the universe. To say the least.

As a person who makes money as a personal organizer, assistant, shopper, and all-around-get-shit-done gal, the irony of the situation is not lost on me. People pay me to ensure nothing falls through the cracks, and I am pretty good at what I do. The fact that my personal life gets put completely on hold means that all the things I am so good at doing for others are the very things that I have to scramble around, last minute, to do for myself.

Striking a balance here has always been difficult for me, so I thought I would share some of the things I've learned, so that maybe you might have some hope staying afloat when life seems to compress into one neck-bending roller-coaster ride of chaos.

1. Don't underestimate Murphy's Law. If you know all the things that can go wrong in any one situation, you will be better prepared to react. Keep one master list on a program like Evernote or in one notebook. Beneath each item on the list, write down alternative solutions to any problems that could come up with that item. REVIEW that list daily, and confirm your plan for each issue. Things change, shit happens, etc. Keeping your eye on "The List" is the best way to ensure you don't forget anything during those moments when things do actually go wrong.

2. If you know you have a huge project coming up that will kill any and all of your free time to do things like getting your oil changed, shop for a good friend's birthday gift, or renewing your license, DO THEM ASAP. It's much better to get your oil changed a few weeks earlier than to go a month or a thousand miles past your due date. I promise, it's worth it.

3. Don't overestimate your ability to stay organized. When you set reminders or alerts on your phone or computer's calendar, don't just put things like "call movers." Put the name of the contact, the phone number, email, etc and any questions you know you need to ask or issues to address in the reminder notes. That way it's all there for you in the moment, so you don't get sidetracked by another issue while trying to find their business card at the bottom of the pile of crap on your desk.

4. Rally your forces and broadcast your mission. Make sure people in your life KNOW that something huge is taking up your time, beforehand. There's nothing worse than having your best friend thinking you're lying somewhere dead in a ditch because you haven't answered your phone in three days. Ask for help when you need it and make sure you are gracious to ALL who lend a hand because you never know when you might need the support in the future. Sure, this massive project has turned you into a crazy person with little to no bandwidth for anything other than what is in front of your face, but some kind words and expressions of thanks go a long way. Always.

5. Breathe. No, seriously. I know it sounds cliche, but it's not. Take some time every day to just breathe a little, clear your head for a few minutes, and root yourself to that moment for the rest of the day. Stay in that moment as you move through and over any obstacle that comes your way, because they will, so there is no reason to deny it. By cultivating that calm energy, you can ensure you'll have the best chance of coming out the other side of things in one piece… albeit battered and bruised, but not broken.

Now, I've got about 487 things left to do before Sunday, and while I'd love to stay and chat, one of the dogs is covered in mud and my boyfriend is currently MIA due to the release of Star Wars: The Old Republic, so he's really no help at all. I think the Christmas tree is about to topple over from the weight of all the cheer I endowed upon it this year, and I have no idea where the wrapping paper is. Can someone call 911? I think I'm about to intubate myself with this wine bottle. KIDDING. Mostly.

I hope some of the above is helpful to at least one of you out there, because I know this time of year can get pretty rough for us all. On that note, I wish all of you the best this season and hope that the new year brings great things for you and yours.

#nerdsunite

Want more from Layne? Click here to follow her on the twitter!

#NerdsUnite: Confessions of a ginger (Peekers Never Prosper)

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Layne. I forget how we first started talking ... I think it was on twitter, and then we totes became besties on Facebook, and then we started reading each other's blogs and like commenting and like and like and like ... this chick is RAD annndd she's a ginger. No, seriously. Welcome to the world of Layne and the thoughts that are inside of her head. HIT IT GIRL! </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @redheadintexas

As a child, I remember the combination of joy and dread that came over me as soon as the tree went up at my house. Usually, my dad would wrestle the green plastic monster into submission the day after Thanksgiving (we usually had a fake tree). I got to do the tinsel at the end, which was my favorite part. I also loved to crawl under the tree, face up, and look at all of the twinkling lights all the way up to the topper. Then I had to write my Christmas list. Sometimes, I would just lay out the Big Toy Book from Toys 'R' Us (remember that thing?) and start copying down the names of everything from pages 3 through 17.

And then came the dread.

Part of it was due to the fact that I had a serious peeking problem. I COULD NOT STOP myself as a child. I wanted to squish and shake and smell every single colorfully wrapped box under the tree. I would check the corners and sides where tape would be used to see if some portion of the box within would accidentally show itself. The smell of all that wrapping paper and all those bows… it was too much for me. I was possessed with the Christmas spirit, and I knew one day, it would be trouble. One day, I would go too far, pull on a corner just a little too hard, and all hell would break loose.

And then it happened.

One night, I was sniffing around the tree when I came up with the clever idea that since there were SO MANY presents, how could my father possibly notice one missing? Surely I could open at least ONE PRESENT!!! I shoved my hand into the pile of boxes and pulled out a relatively small, lightweight package wrapped in silver foil paper with a green bow. I raced up to my room as though the boogie man himself were at my heels, dove under the covers of my bed and ripped open the package.

And then came the dread.

Now, I had to pretend like it never happened. I had to keep my guilt hidden from my dad and from the world. At this point in time, I was past believing in Santa and knew my father was the one responsible for all the loot under the tree on Christmas morning, so I wasn't afraid of Santa. While that's neither here nor there, I knew if I was caught, there would be hell to pay, because I was afraid of my father. And so, as any typical child would do this time of year, I completely overcompensated. I was yes sir-ing and no sir-ing my face off, offering to help with the dishes every night, cleaning my room daily, and just generally being a giant suck-up. Of course my dad knew something was up, but I think initially he just assumed it was my way of trying to secure more presents by being on my "best" behavior.

And then it happened.

Christmas morning: I awoke at the crack of dawn, sprinted out of bed and practically dove head-first down the stairs. I MADE IT! I thought, now, he'll never know! I'm scott-free! I settled on the floor, stocking in hand, and began the process of opening presents and watching my dad open his. When everything was done, I noticed my father picking through my pile of presents as though searching for something. What's he doing? It almost seems like he's look-- OH NO! NO, no no no no… not NOW. OH PLEASE DON'T LET HIM FIGURE IT OUT NOW!

My father looked me straight in my eyes and said: "Did you open a present before Christmas?"

You guys, I was never a skilled liar. I seized the opportunity to admit and hopefully relinquish my guilt the way a thirsty man might drown himself in a puddle. I came clean… which was followed by a wash of relief and then… and then…

And then came the dread.

How was he going to punish me? Grounded FOR LIFE? No Discovery Channel for a year? (Yes, when I misbehaved, my dad would take away the cable box in my room so I couldn't watch Discovery Channel. Any doubts of my nerd-status should be quashed with that revelation) What would it be? After the hollering abated, wherein my father asked me why on earth I would do such a thing and why couldn't I just wait until Christmas, and was it really going to be worth it now that I was in such deep shit?

Let me tell you, it was a combination of all of the above. Several of my "big" presents were kept from me until that summer. I think I lost my DC privileges for at least a month, and my father lorded that "incident" over my head for at least 2 years. At least. The real kicker is, I can't even tell you what was in the present I opened. Worth it? I think not.

The moral of the story is: good things come to those who wait. Also, don't do things that result in you having to keep the truth hidden, especially if you're a shit liar. Even if you don't exactly lie about something, hiding the truth is just as taxing. And when you get caught, own it. Admit your wrong-doing and begin the process of repentance. The things that drive us to do very stupid things are almost NEVER worth it in the end.

So, have you ever been caught peeking?

#nerdsunite

Want more from Layne? Click here to follow her on the twitter!

#NerdsUnite: Confessions of a ginger (Purging your possessions)

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Layne. I forget how we first started talking ... I think it was on twitter, and then we totes became besties on Facebook, and then we started reading each other's blogs and like commenting and like and like and like ... this chick is RAD annndd she's a ginger. No, seriously. Welcome to the world of Layne and the thoughts that are inside of her head. HIT IT GIRL! </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @redheadintexas

I have a need to purge. No, not the bulimic kind of purging. In fact, this purging is not related to bodily functions at all (cause that would be both gross and disgusting). The kind of purging I'm speaking of is the kind that has to do with material possessions. One thing that I have learned in my short lifetime on this planet (as if I have had a life on another?) is that possessions are impermanent. Objects do not persist. Except, perhaps, to create a false sense that you are somehow rooted to a place by the things that you have collected. The "stuff" we all curate, year after year, taking up space in our homes, our lives.

This lesson came to me the hard way. The story goes that one summer, after coming home from visiting my Mom-- I spent summers with Mom and school years with my Dad-- I came home to a completely new bedroom. New furniture, new bed, new everything. Which was fine with me, except that all my "stuff" was gone. ALL OF IT. I had some stuff up on my walls that I loved, like a Betty Boop shaped mirror and a framed poster of Miss Piggy and Kermit the Frog (don't judge me). Gone. I would have been 11 years old, I think. I believe I was starting 6th grade that year. Anyway, I was gutted. I was sooooo pissed off. Even my CLOTHING had been cleared out, replaced with new stuff, but nothing that I actually wanted to wear. (read: stirrup pants. ugh!) It was bizarre. Toys, collections of things, artwork, etc. Almost every piece of my past had been removed from my room, from my life.

From that, I learned to never get too attached to a piece of matter that did not have a beating heart within. (Also: Miss Piggy isn't really much of a style statement, so in hindsight, maybe that was an improvement. The stirrup pants, not so much.)

This may sound like a depressing story, and at the time, sure I was upset and felt violated. I felt robbed. I felt like I had no control over what I thought was "mine." But, the truth of it is, now, I look back and realize that I was able to detach from all of the things I thought made up who I was, and realize that my identity was completely separate from my belongings. It didn't change my favorite color, or my taste in music, or how much I loved science or art, or any real part of my personality. A valuable lesson, indeed.

Cut to me as an "adult" (I use this term very loosely. I don't feel very grown up most of the time)… every time I have moved, I purge about a third of my possessions. Things I haven't seen or touched since I last moved them usually go first. Nothing is exempt from this process, either. I have thrown away things that were I a member of the Amish community, I would probably be shunned. Even things some people consider to be of sentimental value. Birthday cards, letters, clothing, souvenirs, etc. I also rid myself of anything with a negative memory… like if I come across something from a past relationship that went sour… and really, sometimes the last thing you need is to happen across a valentine from a former in that box of random shit at the back of your closet. I find that given time, my mind keeps the good memories alive, while objects often bring about whatever feelings of hurt, betrayal and/or pain. Perhaps that is due to what happened to me at the end of that summer, perhaps not…I don't want to point any fingers. The result is this: I purge myself of unnecessary weight. I reduce the gravitational pull of my possessions.

I often say that if I can't put it in my car (a Mazda 3, so it's a small car) and drive to Mexico with it, I don't need it. Yeah, I know, it makes me sound like a nut bag. So be it. Ergo, very few things really make the cut to become what I consider a "necessary" item. Besides the essential clothing, shoes, toiletries, etc., the things I would keep with me are my phone, my cameras, my negatives (yes, I would even leave my prints behind, because those can be recreated from my negatives), a few pieces of artwork, my music, and my computer. Everything else would simply be dead weight. This is not to say that I am really a minimalist, but if put in a corner, I could deal with it and not blink an eye. (Said eye may twitch a bit at first, but that too shall pass.)

This is also not to say that my day-to-day life is free of superfluous crap. I have a purse filled with miscellaneous shit I think I need: lip balms (yes, more than one), ibuprofen, random ephemera, obsolete business cards (as everyone I need to contact is in my phone!), pens, hair ties, what have you. I have a closet-full of extra. A dresser, bookshelves, baskets of magazines, tchotchkes. But each and every item is one motivated session of cleaning and organizing away from excommunication.

My reason for writing about this is due to the fact that I have a client that I am helping with a huge move. Currently, I am self-employed, as a "Gal Friday" for hire, of sorts. I have a ridiculous laundry list of skills I have obtained by doing this type of work on and off (between "normal" jobs) for the better part of the last decade. It's akin to being a personal assistant, with a side of professional organizer and a dash of tech support. I have done it all. So, my client is moving from her home of 22 years into a smaller high-rise apartment because she wants to downsize to something more reasonable, now that her kids are out of the house (most of the time) and she doesn't want to have to manage such a large household. In 22 years, a family of four can acquire a lot of "stuff." Albeit, I understand that there's an added element of sentimental and emotional attachment to things that belonged to your children, or things you collected as a result of raising a family and living so long in one space. I get it. Really. Well, as much as a childless, unmarried 29-year-old can get it.

The truth is, though, it has only reinforced the way I feel about my "if I can't make a fast escape to Mexico" policy. Having to spend all that time and energy sorting through the mountain of objects would be overwhelming to me, if it were my stuff. The weight of it all… the gravity of all those things almost seems to take on a life of its own. And before any of you get it in your minds that I am being critical, or saying it's wrong to have all of those things, let me assure you, I enjoy the right to do, believe, think, and feel whatever and however the hell I want to, and I also believe I should treat others as I wish to be treated. As such, I hold no grudges or judgment over those who hold onto things, or keep more than what I would feel comfortable with, I'm simply sharing my own convictions about how I deal with my possessions. Different strokes for different folks, y'all.

What is it about being human that causes the invisible string of emotional attachment to be flung from our sense of identity, imbedding itself amongst lifeless, soulless matter? How does this happen? Is it a psychological tether that allows us to feel safe, stay put, procreate and survive as a species? Or is it nonsense that we learned as a result of society's influence, an influence that drives us to accumulate and preserve objects as some kind of trophy, to prove that we had something to show for ourselves? And if you find yourself on the opposite side of that coin, not wanting to hold on to too many things… cutting the ties before they settle, what does that imply? Am I weird? Damaged? Is it abnormal to feel less free when surrounded by too many possessions?

You tell me.

#nerdsunite

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