Stuff - 064
Acquisition and Accumulation
The last time I visited my childhood home, I spent hours in the basement sorting through all my old stuff.
My mom kept every piece of schoolwork I brought home since kindergarten "for my kids."
Here's the thing: my kids don't care about my vocab quizzes, book report on To Kill a Mockingbird or Lewis and Clark diorama.
And neither do I.
But the basement is piled high with memories, toys, souvenirs, and nostalgia.
There is so much stuff.
And having lived in our house for over 2 years now, it feels like it's turning into glass and maybe I should put these stones away.
Our stuff just accumulates.
Sometimes for nostalgia– someday we'll want to remember this.
Or security– you never know when you might need this.
Sometimes from laziness– eh just throw it in the basement.
Or greed– they were on sale at Costco.
Let's talk about all that stuff.
The stuff in our closets and basements.
Giving stuff away. The small stuff. The hard stuff. The good stuff.
Let's start unpacking.
Ownership
I hate getting in trouble. Facing consequences is scary.
I can name the 8 times in my life I got in real trouble.
But I realize that part of adulting is taking responsibility and being on the hook. Ownership.
And so one way I’ve approached this is learning how to apologize better.
Here's what I've learned:
Sometimes it can feel as though apologizing means I'm weak. Like I surrender. I’m wrong. I lost.
But then I remember the point of an apology.
First of all, a good apology is meant to soothe the other person. It's designed to bring you closer and a way to formally take responsibility. It's not about proving who's right or defending what should have happened.
A good apology always includes the words "I'm sorry" and the effect the actions caused.
Using "but" or "if" creates distance. Especially if it points the finger at the other person. "But you did it first" "you crossed a boundary for me" "you made me." Saying sorry and then explaining the reason you did it is trying to get you off the hook. It negates the apology.
An apology is not meant to end the conversation. It begins the healing. Sometimes it requires active listening.
Asking about their experience to understand.
It’s not a time to argue or get defensive.
Absolutely do not apologize for the hurt party's feelings.
"I'm sorry you feel hurt" is completely different than "I'm sorry that what I did hurt you."
We can be responsible for our own behavior. We can’t be responsible for other people’s reactions.
"I'm sorry I did that. I realize now how hurtful it was to you and I made a mistake. I'll try my best to never do anything like that again."
When we receive an apology, we're conditioned to say "it's ok". Even if it's not. We can let other people own their stuff without feeling better right away.
The stuff that hurt us doesn’t magically get fixed with an apology, but it can soften it or help.
A better alternative might just be to learn to say "Thank you for the apology."
A relationship is the ball in an infinite game of emotional tennis. We hit it back and forth. I did that because you did that. And you did that because I did the thing before. No one person started it. Both of you contributed.
Making mistakes, hurting people you love, and getting hurt are some of the hardest parts of relationships. I may always hate getting in trouble and facing consequences, but I've learned a good apology is something that can make all that stuff feel a little better.
Giving Stuff Away
I want to throw away a book, but I fear it'd be traumatic.
It's this old Shel Silverstein collection– "A Light in The Attic".
Just like a teddy bear, It's stuffed
but not with some old cotton and fluff.
It's packed tight with the memory of being in bed
fresh out of the bath– hair matted to my head
Smelling like fruity soap and bubble gum toothpaste still
while my mom, in my bed, reads me "Backwards Bill."
Those moments live in the pages, even today.
So you see, I just can't throw it away.
I want to donate my black hoodie sweatshirt
the one from my very first rock concert
For years, in my car I'd play that CD
The sweatshirt and music became a part of me.
The notes and lyrics are woven in there still.
So you see, I just can't give it to goodwill.
When we finally sold our last place
I always thought it could never be replaced
It's where we brought both our kids home to
Surely there's too much stuff to comb through.
But now that we found our house here,
It's become abundantly clear
The memories aren't gone,
In me and you, they live on.
Animation by Guillaume Kurkdjian
And stuff
I remember those nights in middle school. I'd be practicing a speech in the living room, my mom listening as both my coach and audience.
"Like, stop saying 'like' so, like, much," she says.
"UGHHH mom! That is too, like, hard to do right now"
"Jake, it softens your, like, argument."
I heard that come out of my mouth this month.
Golda is starting to say it all the time.
It sounds as if she doesn't feel strongly about her opinions.
"Like" weakens her conviction.
And I want her to be strong-willed.
But I recently watched a great Jacqueline Novak standup special where she talks about that. She believes that her argument is TOO strong. Mind-blowing, even. Maybe she's just too much for people to handle the way that she is.
So she uses words to soften her argument on purpose.
Maybe it makes people, like, actually hear what she's saying.
Maybe it's a way to make her point resonate more deeply without feeling preachy and stuff.
Even though I hated it growing up, I'm doing it to Golda.
And I've got a hard truth to share about it.
The first part of life we worship our parents.
Then, we reject and rebel against them.
And then the day comes when we find ourselves becoming them....y'know?
You Can't Make This Stuff Up
Speaking of stuff, my friend Vanessa shared this crazy insight.
Think about this: you've never met anyone with the same refrigerator as you. 🤯
(I think it's especially true with the one you get from me every month)
Thanks for reading, sharing your reflections, and spending your time with me. And, of course, my stuff.
Refrigeyalater,
Jake
Oh, hey it’s me again.
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The Email Refrigerator is a monthly delivery of essays, poetry, imagery, and thoughts, written and curated by Jake Kahana. Why a refrigerator? Well, it's where we look for snacks, a little freshness, and where we hang the latest, greatest work. And besides, "newsletter" sounds like spam.