A Life's Worth

Original Post Date: Mar 28th, 2009

My first word was "more".

It took me just over 5 hours to pack. Everything I owned fit into a few garbage bags, my dresser drawers, a handful of plastic grocery bags, and a couple of boxes. The contents, minus my bed and nightstand, filled just under half a room. Nothing was piled on top of things. It would have all fit nicely into the corner if I had organized it. My life in 5 hours sat before me, diligently waiting to be picked up.

I packed much like I wrote my essays back in university: dedicatedly, methodically, chaotically, and at the last minute. It is a wonderful experience, to toss on some music and know that for an entire evening, you and your own wits are completely devoted to a problem. You form a strange partnership with the world. Other stresses become meaningless - shelved. Other people fade into the background. You have a pot of tea at your disposal. A lot of sugar and milk, so you won't run out. You spread your source material out on your bed (or your boxes out in your living room) and you look at your project. "Okay," you say. "Let's do this."

It reminds me of a time at 3 in the morning in the middle of winter a few years ago. I had a paper due in under 6 hours and I decided it was time for a break. I stood on the balcony with 5 pages remaining. Tea in my hand, I was completely alone. The air was chill, and I was shivering. But me, my smile and my frozen floating breath did not feel lonely. Not for a moment. Those are the moments, actually, that I live for.

More.

Last year I decided to give myself a birthday gift. Of all the things that might be important on a birthday list - whether you have a huge party or whether you get drunk, whether anyone shows up or whether that special someone remembers the day - I have found it personally most important that you do not forget to give yourself something. All holidays are man-made events, to be sure. And the meaning behind just about any of them is usually a meaning that is better suited to an all year 'round celebration. But that, as with every holiday, should not negate the comfortable man-made opportunity to celebrate it in those moments.

And at worst, it's a great excuse to buy that blender that you said you couldn't afford, while sipping your 5 dollar cup of Starbucks.

Last year I silently promised myself I would give myself the gift of dedicated time to write and to discover what my soul was really made of. I don't expect my career path to be that of an author, but I certainly have been feeling more of a comfortable connection with my soul through the written word. And so, I decided I would find time to break from the rat race of my every day life, and find my artistic self. A couple months and a few encouraging conversations later, I booked my ticket to France.

In my new place, it took me over 5 days to unpack. Boxes sat unemptied in my living room. Clothes crumpled into half full bags littered my would-be bedroom. Files in dresser drawers lay un-filed.

It's not that I'm anti-materialist. I'm not. I like a comfy couch as much as the next person. And, much as it's a social faux pas to admit it, sex sells to a guy like me. But I AM anti-stuff-owning-you. The world of things seems interesting, I know. Walking down an aisle in Wal-Mart and realizing that you can buy a kettle and a teapot that match sells the appeal. But once you keep yourself free of it, it's as wonderful as keeping yourself free from any addiction. It's then you fly. 10 pairs of shoes just isn't as interesting as the world of passions. Unpacking my Xbox 360 isn't nearly as inspiring as talking with a cute girl until 2 in the morning.

I'm not sure what this new place holds for me, nor do I know what my 26th year holds for me. But I do know that my life was not packed into a corner of my old place after a few hours of work, and it was not unloaded into my new place. I have found that I tend to, instead, pack it into pots of tea, and unpack it into dinners with friends. I walk through it on the sunny days and watch it fall from the heavens on the rainy ones. I intend to write it into love letters and hear it in the sound of children's laughter.

This value cannot be weighed, of course, but it also doesn't need to be lugged into a truck. The tragedy of this value is that it cannot be kept, and vanishes as readily as it appeared. The blessing of it is that it is wholly unique, boundless, and endless. No new video game can boast eternality. But (despite the very best efforts of relativity, immorality, and Hollywood), the moments that live in places like Love, Happiness, and Beauty, can. For my birthday this year, I want more of them.

As if to write the stereotype of every brotherly conflict, my brother's first word just over a year later was "mine".

- Z