Am I my stuff?

Am I my stuff?

Minor freak out yesterday morning.  I'm all dressed for work and looking for my brown purse.  I can't find it.  It's the only brown purse I own and my outfit definitely called for it.  I don't use the purse often, since I don't wear earth tones very often, but since it does happen occasionally, I own one fabulous slouchy, brown leather purse.  Or, at least, I thought I did.

As I was rummaging through my bedroom closet, the coat closet, the back office closet and time was running out before I HAD TO leave the house, I kept saying to myself, "I can't believe I would have gotten rid of it.  I just can't believe I'd do that."  But it wasn't there.

A few months ago, I made a first pass at weeding my wardrobe to prep for an eventual move to Vienna.  Who wants to cart boxes and boxes of clothes and stuff across the ocean!?  I went through my closet,  drawers, shelves - clothes, shoes, handbags....everything.   I was feeling pretty focused and intent on making a dent; I followed the Use Rule (how often do you wear/use it) and I was pretty ruthless.  And I made some pretty good decisions - since the Big Clean, I haven't reached into the closet to find something, only to realize it is no longer a part of my life.  Until yesterday.

Strictly following the Use Rule, the purse wouldn't have made the cut, so I can see myself putting it in the To Go pile.  But it is the ONLY brown purse I own.  As much as I hate to admit it, I am a matchy-matchy girl.  My shoes and purse must match my outfit or I feel off all day.  I just couldn't imagine that I'd have let the drive for minimalism trump the need to have one brown purse for those non-black-wearing days, few as they may be.

Lo and behold, just in the nick of Gotta-Get-Outta-Here time, I found it.  On the closet floor, underneath shoe boxes and various other items.  Of course I didn't get rid of it.  A sigh of relief and a huge smile.  I felt such joy!   

And then I felt a little silly, feeling such happiness about a purse.  I spent the day pondering the idea of the things we own, the things we each choose to put an emphasis on, and how we use them to define ourselves - to ourself and to others.  In light of moving and wanting to pare down to basics, what it would mean to not have some of these things?  Would I feel like myself in Vienna if I got there and didn't have all my *stuff*?  I'm not a very sentimental person.  I don't hold on to objects, trinkets, or knick-knacks much.  A few family items, but mostly books and clothes.  That's me, that's my stuff.

A friend recently asked me and my husband what we were planning to take with us to Vienna.  "Just a few suitcases?" he asked.  My husband nodded, yes.  I shook my head, vehemently, No! I probably also had a look of utter disbelief and horror on my face - a couple suitcases!?

I do have every desire to pare down to the basics and I understand the need to do so in planning an international move, but the basics for me is a totally different thing than the basics for my husband.  The question is...is it actually necessary to own three pair of black pants?  Really?  I keep telling myself - no, it's not, you can do better, get by with less (and there is a sense of accomplishment and pride in being minimalist, I do feel it), but, while they may all be black, these pants are all different styles, they create different looks and reflect different moods.

Since the time I could put my own outfits together, I've felt that the way I dress is my personal means of artistic, creative expression (Much to my mother's chagrin at times.  But in my defense, I came of age in the 1980s - think Madonna, Flashdance, big hair, jelly bracelets - what was a girl to do?).  I have grown into my own style since those high school, testing-the-self-expression-waters days.  Sometimes classic, sometimes quirky, always a little different and always very Me (whatever that really means).  To be Me, I need these three pair of black pants and a brown purse that I only use once every few months.

It's not a matter of being owned by my stuff, being a slave to consumerism and trends.  Most of what I own, I've had for years.  I do shop, but I only buy what I really need and want now and I keep and wear things for a long time.  My wardrobe is my history, my story, in a way.  To trim it to what would fit in a couple suitcases would be like cutting off an arm.  Oh the drama!  But it's true!  Am I crazy?  Am I my stuff?  Or is my stuff a part of me?