Corporate America Runaway

Photo: Shutting the door on my 5 years at 74th and Columbus…

There’s something surreal about seeing your bed wheeled down the streets of NYC on a dolly. Really – a sobering situation.

There I was, walking down the street with friends after dinner seeing my life possessions being carted down the street – God…this isn’t happening…is it?

My friends have been amazing – and have benefited quite a lot from my liquidation of my life. Many of them have taken/borrowed furniture, art, and electronics. This is all great as is means that it’s less stuff to put into storage…however in another weird way it is terribly painful. I realized just how painful it was when I saw my mattress being wheeled down the street past the Museum of Natural History…which may be quite fitting for my mattress!

Photo: Me working my ‘home office’…what’s left of it.
Slowly – every day more is taken away…I’m left with a beach chair - my only piece of furniture to sit on, paper plates, and plastic silverware as I’ve sold all the rest.

Sure, it’s great to have the money from selling things…but it goes so fast. It’s strange thinking that your bed is the same value as a dinner and a nice bottle of wine in NYC.

I’d like to sit here and say that I liquidated my life with ease and confidence, that I was the model of composure; but I can’t lie. There have been a few tears shed about the loss of my possessions. As it gets closer to nothingness, more tears seem to come, but that is more about me wanting this whole process to be over – I’m just tired of it. I’m tired of living like this slowly watching things disappear and crumble around me. The rub is that as bad as it feels – it feel equally good and freeing. Sometimes I think that tears are necessary though…it’s a mourning process that we have to let our bodies go through….and mine has been working overtime.

Photo: My dear friends doing some ‘Sherry Shopping’ - at least I know it goes to a good home!

Seeing my bed on the street…well, that was a whole new level. I was already a bit apprehensive about selling my bed, seeing it on the street made it even harder. Your bed is precious. Just think for a moment…think about your bed….and then think about never sleeping in it again. But not because you are replacing it with a new fluffier bed, instead it is because you are choosing to give up normalcy. From this point forward for the next few years you will be sleeping in multiple beds - some good, some bad. But never the same bed for long; and it’s never YOUR bed. That is the challenge of traveling.

It’s weird to be going through this again – leaving again. I have this ‘here we go again’ feeling as I pack up my suitcase full of rolled clothes – my dresser on wheels. It’s easier since I know what to expect, but harder also because this time it’s for real….there’s nothing but friends and a small storage space in Manhattan to come back to.

My posessions…no longer…

A friend recently asked me if I ever felt an overwhelming social pressure to get married and have kids.
My answer, “Not really.”
Sure, there’s pressure from a social norm standpoint, but I seldom let it get to me. However, recently I have felt a great deal of social pressure with my current life decision; to not go back to my corporate career and instead sell 90% of what I own to go make slightly over $15000 a year. I am truly going back to square one, the square I was in when I graduated from college.

Today there are an increasing number of women not getting married or having a family. But I don’t know many other people who have decided willingly to go from the making of an extremely comfortable lifestyle with a 6 figure salary to practically nothing. No home, and few possessions. Sure, when I used to have really terrible days at work I’d fantasize about giving it all up and living a simpler life – but deep down I didn’t think it would actually happen.

When I refer to social pressure, I’m not saying that people are specifically putting pressure on me telling me not to do it. In fact my friends and family have been very supportive through my struggles, indecision, and tears. The pressure is coming from myself and what I see around me. Ever since I graduated from college I have been on a quest; a quest to be ‘grown up’ and successful. A quest to own furniture that doesn’t come with assembly instructions.

I still remember the first piece of furniture I ever purchased; a couch from Sears. Then came a bed, some side tables, kitchen appliances, works of art, pottery, clothes, more clothes, handbags, and a shitload of shoes. Some how I moved from my apartment in Omaha, NE, which was furnished with furniture from garage sales and posters that I put in a plastic frames to a beautiful loft in Manhattan with real wood furniture and actual art on my walls. I had a real ‘grown-up’ life I purchased for myself.

Now I look around at all the stuff I have acquired through the years and realize that it’s really my enemy. It’s holding me hostage. But who at 38 yrs old in their right mind gives it all up?

Me

The progression of my disappearance of ’stuff’…from every angle…click on the picture to enlarge.

I had to make this weighty decision while I was away from my stuff – it’s too hard to do while you are sitting on your perfectly good couch that you are deciding whether to give up or not. I’d like to say that my time back in NY since January has been fun and carefree – but it hasn’t. I’ve been weighted down with big decisions – what do I do next, how will I live, how do I avoid corporate America, where will I live, how will I make money to live? This constant bombardment of difficult questions that I submit myself to has been a slow torture. Coupled that with being in NY where you tend to bleed money – it has really sucked.

In order to not lose my mind I’ve had to make some decisions and my first step is to cut free of the shackles of my stuff and rent payments.

Selling my ‘stuff’ off to my family, friends, neighbors, and strangers creates a weird feeling. It’s certainly not a comfortable situation. As I hand over the items that I worked so hard to acquire I try to think of it as if I’m getting rid of a disease and now it’s someone else weighty shackles. They will have to house it for years and be tied down to it. By looking at it as buying my freedom, it doesn’t feel as pathetic.

As I look around my comfortable apartment, I wonder for a moment just how much my stuff defines me. It’s a fact that stuff doesn’t make you happy, so why not cut free? As I watch my things march out of my life I have to change my mindset. My stuff and my apartment doesn’t define me. Instead, it’s my writing and this blog that defines me. I don’t need stuff…I feel lighter already.

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