When I last lived in an apartment, I partially furnished my cheap 1-bedroom with dumpster objects: A TV stand became my dresser, I didn’t need to buy assorted chairs, and anything else halfway useful became mine. I try to limit myself now to just clean cardboard boxes since they can be used for storage or donations, but still… there are tempting objects that “could be useful” “someday.” I have to remember my move out… dates.
I woke up to the sounds of an eagle somewhere.
Its caws reminded me of car alarms, traffic, fighting, or anything else that awoke me in the old apartment. I’m casually browsing the prices of other apartments in the area. The richest ones in the heart of downtown are not an astounding amount more expensive than the apartment-mansion. To live somewhere upscale, I would need to have a vibrant residual income, otherwise, it would be a gamble.
Would I even want all the noise pollution?
The apartment-oldest overlooked a somewhat busy road. Its traffic went at all hours. I learned to assimilate that gentle noise pollution into my psyche like I’m doing now while writing this chunk of this essay near an equally noisy road. It’s the occasional screaming or frequent cawing that are difficult to assimilate. A white noise generator set to a low volume might solve that problem.
A basket or other random furniture won’t.
They’ll just get in the way. The apartment-mansion is huge. I can fit five bookshelves in the dining room and still have plenty of room! I have to remember not to get spoiled over these little details because the cracks of noise and inconvenience break through more in this place. My shower is too loud for me to comfortably use before work, so I bathe in the evenings, and lightly wash in the mornings.
That’s not a comfortable living arrangement.
There are bigger places equally distant from the city that are quieter, but I keep mentioning this idea only because I have fewer options now with all my possessions. I’m learning to detach more from both my current possessions and potential possessions. It’s harder to disown something after you’ve owned it for any length of time. You naturally attach value, sometimes superfluous value, to that object. Something received for nothing with a market value of nothing could inflate in personal value instantly and irrationally.
This basket could become a lifestyle.
That’s what I’m fighting against. I have a whole spare bedroom full of similar objects. Objects I care deeply about sat next to worthless objects. Sifting through these objects will be the harder battles than this basket. I might have found some object on the ground back when I was twelve, so now I’d have to tell that past-me to disregard that object. I don’t want to be rude to him. If I still care about that object and owning it is innocuous, there’s no reason for me to part ways with it yet.
That basket means nothing.
|Sources: My personal experiences.|
|Inspirations: I was originally going to write something else before seeing this basket. Here’s my schedule: I’ll edit and publish in the morning before getting ready for work. I leave early so I can avoid the worst of the traffic. With the 15 minutes or so that I have before I need to go into the office, I’ll start writing based on what I thought about on the drive in. I’ll try to finish the writing by my first break or lunch. The drive home and the evening will be to decompress, bathe, and go to sleep early. This way I can focus my energy most productively around editing and early-morning computer use. That’s the behind-the-scenes, but this essay was more commenting on how it’s nice having this apartment-mansion, but if I spend two hours in traffic each day, that’s not a sustainable lifestyle.|
|Related: Other Downsizing Zeal essays.|
|Photo: Basket outside a dumpster.|
|Written On: May 29th [26 minutes]|
|Last Edited: May 30th [Minor edits of the first paragraph, otherwise, first draft; final draft for the Internet.]|