Cold storage

5 Sep

Well, just plain old run-of-the-mill storage, but somehow the whole thing screams cryogenics to me. Or conjures up images of Ellen Ripley aboard the Nostromo. I’ve only ever paid for storage once, while living in Los Angeles. But New York living has pushed me more and more towards being the kind of person who wants less stuff, not just some place to store the stuff I already have (Ok, I may have already been this person, but it’s less fun to blame stuff on your parents than it is to blame it on the city. Well, less say differently fun). It’s a classic New York position: I want more space, but I want less stuff to take up that space. A colleague once told me she moved away from New York because the longer she lived there, the more her clothes became black and her walls white. It’s one more reason to be wary of this city – it’s trying to turn you into a harlequin.

And yet, and yet, this weekend our plan is to take some boxes of stuff and put them into storage. Clothes, books, photos, all things we’re never going to look at again, never going to wear again, never going to read again, but couldn’t possibly live without. I’m still holding onto the varsity letter I earned in high school but never sewed onto my DHS letterman’s jacket to give to my cheerleader girlfriend. The Plan de Paris I still have from 1992, when my now-wife was my platonic then-semester abroad traveling partner, can’t be thrown out, despite the fact that we’re not likely to go back to Paris in the nearest future and, well, THEY STILL SELL MAPS OF THE PLACE. To be fair, many of the clothes will be worn again, in season and after the baby is born and weight is lost. And some things hang on the cusp of personal appreciation and functionality, only going to be sold/recycled by quirk of fate (do we keep the artsy hotplate given to us for our wedding, or the corkboard one made for us by my mother?). But mostly we are paying some storage place to make us feel ok about platforming our goods before we trash them.

At the end of the day, there is a baby on the way, and so shit has to be moved to make way for a new person in our lives. Thank goodness this is the only time we’re going to have to make accommodation for the kid. Plus the fact that we own less stuff, in less space, than 99% of our friends, family, and people we see featured on Hoarders. If a few boxes in a remote location, buried 200 feet underground in a blast-proof bunker in Queens, are going to make us happier, healthier, and lighter-feeling, then I shouldn’t complain about it. Right? Right?

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One Response to “Cold storage”

  1. Davin September 5, 2010 at 1:32 pm #

    Welcome to Queens, where we store all the shite that’s no longer hip enough for Brooklyn. Sigh.

    In other news, our squggler has only just gone down for his nap (and the weight of his noggin is putting my non-typing arm to sleep), so our afternoon Park Slopage plans may need adjusting. Stay tuned…

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