When I was a kid, my parents and I lost everything we owned. I don't mean because of a natural disaster, or even because our debts were too great. No one robbed us, and we weren't hiding from anyone. At least, I don't think so.
But back a couple decades, my parents and I put all our things in storage and took a vacation to see our family in another country. We stayed for a while, enjoying the time with them. I guess my parents were paying the monthly storage bills. But through my aunt who lived by us. One day a letter arrived, with my aunt's apologies. I will never forget that time, because that was when my life changed forever.
The storage facility owner was going through hard times because his wife was dying of cancer. He billed us at our previous residence, even though he had known we were not there. The only thing we could say was that he must have gone crazy and forgot what he was doing. The thing was, my aunt for some reason didn't know the owner was sending out such letters. I guess she was picking up our mail that still was being sent there, but I'm not sure what transpired between my parents and her with communicating on payments. All I know is, the owner sent out a warning letter that if payment wasn't received by a certain date, all our things would be auctioned off. I'll never know if it was that my aunt didn't care enough to at least make an effort to pay on our behalf, or if we were late in our payment and she had just neglected to tell us about the warning. Either way, when she wrote to us, it was to tell us that our things were gone.
Everything we had owned. All the memories of our life together. My parents' childhood memories that they would have shared with me one day. My toys. Our clothes. Our photographs. All gone! The reality was, the only things we owned were what we had with us, and some random things my aunt had stored at her house (which wasn't a lot).
I guess you would say I had been slightly materialistic as a kid, where I hoarded my toys, had a sticker collection, a matchbox car collection, and so many other things. I kept everything in mint condition, so I'm sure they were of value to somebody.
But when this incident happened, it changed me. I learned that our lives aren't defined by the things we have, but by what we do with our lives. That we can be happy without the stuff, and that life goes on even after we're out of this world. It's not worth it to fight with people about who gets what. Those are petty issues. Even if you pass the buck, the stuff you hold on to for each generation eventually goes to someone else.
That said, I have found in different times in my life that I wonder about where our things are...if I'd see some things shown on e-Bay, or if I'd go to a garage sale and find something there. I did at one time find a painting that I had had on my wall in my room growing up, and we have no clue if it's the SAME one, but because it is not a common one who knows. I bought it and was glad to have it as a sole reminder of my childhood. I would have liked to have had a few things for my daughter. My husband has a few of his childhood things, but is not as sentimental as me, and had sold a lot of his stuff in a garage sale prior to moving to the area.
Now that we are able to build our lives with acquiring things, I refrain from making many purchases because I don't want to be consumed with thinking about the "stuff". I don't think my husband understands me, because he feels certain things are necessary or he just wants to get something on a whim.
Overall, though, I guess we are minimalists. I don't want a luxurious lifestyle, because I wouldn't feel safe with too many things--I would imagine I would constantly be worried about being robbed or held up. And who needs that kind of stress in an already messed up world?
