Except for our house (which we still owe a boatload on), a few pieces of jewelry my wife won’t wear for fear of getting clocked and a few investments, almost everything we have is either junk or will be soon.
We are at an age when we realize there is a ticking clock, and it’s time to get rid of stuff. No one wants to burden their spouse or kids by leaving behind all their priceless junk for them to dispose of once they dispose of us. It’s a guarantee that almost everything we keep for our kids to sift through will be tossed faster than a flea plucked off a dog’s abdomen.
Remember how your kids used to fight over a helium balloon when they were young? Civil war can break out if you leave behind a painting by Yayoi Kusama and let them decide how to split the money. Tell them in writing if they sue and lose, they get nothing.
My 99-year-old friend George Stanley still hasn’t let go of thousands of books he’ll never read again. Instead of giving them away, George had a shed built in his backyard to store them — a shed he’ll probably never enter.
In divorce, you must let go of stuff, but usually, it’s the things you don’t want to let go of, like cars, homes, bank accounts, and kids. Even the girlfriend or boyfriend you chucked everything for might say ta-ta once the lawyers send in the U-Haul.
One of our closets recently had an ant problem, so we had to empty it of almost everything. Thank you, ants. Because of the ants, we filled three giant Hefty bags with things like two-dollar dried-out ponchos, one left glove, a ski hat missing its pom-pom, half a dozen burlap bags from charity events, some of my dress suits and shoes, a few of my wife’s coats and a vacuum that spits out more dust than it takes in.
My wife has asked me to help her tackle the garage for years. I’d be best served if I told her, “Throw out everything you want to throw out. I trust you.” But I can’t bring myself to say those words. I need to be there, fighting tooth and nail for my 1960s Grateful Dead posters and my Mickey Mouse lunch box because, who knows, they might be worth a fortune. eBay has created the ultimate junkyard for buyers for your 20-year-old knee and elbow pads you used during your high school football days.
I have a bottle of unopened beet juice in the back left corner of the fridge that has been there for five months. If I leave something untouched, I become scared of it. Look at my desk if you don’t believe me. The beet juice is just that. I am afraid to drink it or toss it.
I have a bottle of unopened beet juice in the back left corner of the fridge that has been there for five months. If I leave something untouched, I become scared of it. Look at my desk if you don’t believe me.
Not long ago, we were lucky to be rid of our children who left much of their junk behind. Don’t get me wrong, our kids are not junk — we love them more than Trump loves being on TV — but we are done living with them. Amazingly, it was much easier for me to toss them than the beet juice. Go figure.
My daughter-in-law Anna told my wife to get new living room lamps and remove a bench we have for people to sit on. She didn’t call our stuff junk but said, “They don’t fit your decor.” She’s also redecorated a playroom for our grandchildren. She did a good job, and the place looks newer and fresher. But she did it for one reason: we owned junk.
Now that we are on a rampage to toss, I must admit the feeling of getting rid of our junk is freeing and calming. It’s almost a meditation. It almost feels like being released from prison. I am not a hoarder, but I am a saver of things. My mother used to say, “Why don’t you ever throw anything away?” My wife will pick up a two-week-old newspaper and say, “Are you saving this for any reason?”
Guess what? I just got up my nerve and drank some beet juice. I’m glad I didn’t throw it out.
Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer, and hosts, along with Danny Lobell, the “We Think It’s Funny” podcast. His new book is “Why Not? Lessons on Comedy, Courage and Chutzpah.”
