I once collected clocks. None of them worked, but it was sort of an aesthetic thing, where I enjoyed the idea that all these clocks would be stopped at various times throughout the day, so each would have their time to shine. I’ve now donated almost most of them. After I donate this box containing a wooden clock, I will have closed off yet another superfluous collection, enabling space, focus, and dare I say… time?
Everything in this box has some dollar amount above $0.00.
Yet it’s a matter of finding the buyer and the time. I’m starting to sell extra junk from my Steam account on their marketplace and the process is easy: figure out what item I want to sell, set the price, and wait for the $0.02 or $0.04 to roll back into my account automatically. If the process of selling things online were as easy, I’d parse out everything from this donation box, price, then sell everything.
I have no interest in extended experiments in selling.
I have six months to cut my possessions in half, roughly, to more easily physically and mentally negotiate for a cheaper or closer apartment. It’s easy to downsize boardgames and clocks. These processes have enabled me the mental fortitude to downsize other things in my life, whether it’s half-completed projects, half-baked ideas, half-interested collections, half-discerned thoughts, or half-considered explorations.
The intention is removing friction from future projects.
I have a large project in the writing bay that’s been paused for longer than I wanted. I’m writing this on a Wednesday evening. I gave myself Monday as a leisurely day off, expecting to write a majority of the content on Tuesday and Wednesday so I could do the final edits and publishing considerations tomorrow to maybe publish on Friday. Well, I’ve written 1,000 words. I just haven’t been motivated to write.
It’s been easier without as many distractions in the way.
It might have taken me twice as long to write half as much before I started moving. At the height of my hoarding tendencies, my focus would be scattered everywhere across my hoarder-home. Although my apartment-mansion is still a cluttered mess, it’s significantly more organized now. If only it were easier for me to get rid of things like this I didn’t care that much about but bought because I was amused by them.
It takes time to parse through everything and say goodbyes.
When I become attached to objects, it’s tough to put them in a goodbye box. If that will help decrease my chances of procrastination and increase my productivity, why wouldn’t I do this more often? I don’t want to do it for the wrong reasons. I don’t want to purge everything in spite or anger. Instead, taking my time to do things right should help me avoid getting curious about collecting new objects.
I bought that wood clock because I liked its map.
That’s something I could have just photographed and passed on.
Why did I need to own it?
|Quotes: None. I was originally going to lead in with a quote from when I bought the clock. I was with my buddy Jeremy, a friend of the website, that basically asked me why the hell I was buying it. Sorry I didn’t listen.|
|Sources: My personal experiences.|
|Inspirations: Clearing out space in my living room and my Trello board. I uploaded the photograph below in December and just never got around to using it for an essay until over five months later. Considering the hundreds of thousands of photos I’ve taken over the years, it’ll be neverending to actually use all of them, but this one I wanted to use because it not only represents a turning point in my life’s focus away from collecting nonsense but also a callback to both Moving Zeal but some of the nostalgia over why I would collect such nonsense: aesthetics.|
|Related: Other Downsizing Zeal essays.|
Above: Donation box
Below: Decadent display
|Written On: May 15th [30 minutes]|
|Last Edited: First draft; final draft for the Internet.|