Evaluating the worth of "stuff"

Photo by LizMarie

I have a recurring dream. The details change from time to time, but the theme remains the same: I have to move. I can't take much. I have to choose.


In the dream, I'm always anxious and regretful. I can't take everything I want. Inevitably, as we begin to leave, I realize that I have forgotten something vital. Usually, someone is impatiently telling me that we have to go while I frantically try to find room for the forgotten items.


It's a hard dream to have for obvious reasons. I have to be minimalist, which means taking only the most important things. I have to decide what I can live without, what I can't replace. I have to accept that I can't take it all and that I have to make trade-offs. (Did I mention that my dreams are annoyingly obvious when it comes to symbolism? Like the one where I have to drive a car from the passenger seat.)


Inevitably, of course, I wake up and realize it was all a dream. But the knot of tension in my stomach is very real. It dissolves slowly, and I tend to feel vaguely anxious all day. I touch things to reassure myself that it's all still there. That there's no emergency. That I don't have to leave things behind.


So you can imagine how overwhelming it is to even consider moving to Arizona. Whether we use a moving van or PODS or something else, we're going to have to pare down considerably. During the (almost) 13 years in Seattle, I've accumulated quite a lot of things. And that's not even considering the things I've sold or donated to charity over the years!


Tuesday night, Tim and I got to talking about the move. We discussed which things we'd be okay selling or otherwise getting rid of. We went around the apartment and looked at our various possessions.


What startled me was how willing I was to get rid of things. Other than the couch, the bed and a dresser, I'm not particularly tied to any of our items.


Well, that's not true. I like most of our stuff. I wouldn't voluntarily get rid of it if we were simply moving across town. But when it comes to things I think are worth hauling 1500 miles? The perspective changes considerably.


Another surprise was just how much stuff we had. Until you look around with a critical, we-have-finite-space eye, things blend in. You consider them part of the landscape of necessary stuff. Dressers are useful for sheet sets and miscellaneous clothing. A set of drawers is great for holding odds and ends. A side table is a convenient place for a lamp, plus it houses Sandy's fortress of solitude (aka a cardboard box with a small chunk cut out, allowing her to go in and hide as needed).


In short, you assume you need them -- right up until you consider how you'd get them 1500 miles away.


Having never had to move to a new state with furniture, this is all new to me. Instead of seeing things we use daily, I now see things that have to be packed and fit into a moving van, or shipped to us once we get settled. I stopped thinking of our possessions as creature comforts and started seeing them as things weighing us (or, at least, a moving van) down.


It finally helped me to see why some people choose a minimalist lifestyle. While I don't think I'll ever go to that extreme, I definitely have a new appreciation for just how tied we our to our "stuff." Each item that Tim and I can't live without has to, somehow, get to Arizona.



Usually, I'm a natural-born packrat. I have trouble getting rid of things. I blame my mother. (That's what she's there for, right?) It was only a few years ago that she finally threw away the last cloth diaper from my infancy. Apparently they make very good cleaning rags.


It's this whole attitude that ended up, for me, being a firm, if annoying, belief that everything will eventually come in handy.


If I'm being completely honest, though, I have to admit that my packrat nature also comes from being materialistic. I like things. They're fun, they can provide entertainment/convenience/comfort. A lot of times, they're colorful. What's not to like?


Turns out there are several answers to that question. First and foremost, there's the fact that most things cost money. That part I've never liked. Then there's the clutter they create. And I've obviously covered just how much our "stuff" can be a burden.


But what I haven't thought about much is the opportunity cost. I've always known that money spent on things is money that isn't going against debt or into an emergency fund. That's the obvious part.


My new appreciation, though, is for the opportunity cost of stuff we already own. It's the potential money it represents. As I go through the apartment, I'm seeing so many things that could be cash. That's always appealing. And when you compare it to moving those items out of state, money in hand is even more enticing.


And so begins our effort to convert some "stuff" into money. Currently, I'm helping Tim sell more of his Magic cards. We've agreed that the funds from that will sit in the bank until we know more about our plans. As will the profits from a few items I'm selling on eBay.


Once that is done, I'm considering attacking my bead collection. I like it but I haven't touched them in ages, it's an expensive hobby, and I never end up finishing things. Parceled up into small lots, I think I could net some decent money. Nothing huge, but $20-40 could go a long way.


At this point, part of me is also getting morbidly curious: How much could we end up making from this sell-off? I want to find out how much stuff we have that we don't really want to take with us. How much could we sell as we go? That is, what could we sell without really missing it -- even if we didn't move for a year?



Have you ever taken stock of your belongings? Ever wondered how much you could do without? How much you could get for them? What would you absolutely keep if you moved out of state?

Is getting deeper into debt ever justifiable?

Photo by Gloria Payne

I think there are some arguments to be made that it is. But it's rare.


There are some obvious cases, such as medical costs, where money is not the most important item on the agenda. And certainly, you can make a case for student loans, although these are increasingly coming under fire. (To be fair, the criticism is generally aimed at students who emerge from graduate school so deeply in debt that their loan payments suck up most of their pay.)


Still, are there other cases?


This is the thought that bounced around my cranium this past weekend. Because we're moving to Arizona.


Not immediately, so don't get up on those soapboxes just yet. But the idea of just saying, "What the hell!" and taking off... It was alluring. Well, for everything except the actual, horrible process of packing up whatever you don't sell and lugging it across the country.


The reason we're considering Arizona is that Tim's skin was nearly flare-up free during the two times he lived there. Rash free, even.


Let me put this in perspective. Whenever we'd meet a new doctor, Tim would mention his eczema. The doctor would glance over and say, "Yeah, I see it's flared up pretty badly right now." Tim would give a small smirk and break the news that this was a good day for his skin. Put another way, every single doctor and pharmacist has told us that Tim's case is the worst (or, very occasionally, one of the worst) they had ever seen.


Meanwhile, as summer creeps on and the humidity rises, Tim's skin is getting worse. And I watch my husband be nearly constantly uncomfortable.


So, as much as I love the Seattle area, I realized we have to get the heck out of Washington. The sooner the better.


Unfortunately, there are a few very compelling reasons why we can't move just yet:

1. We owe $6707 on our Citi card (yes, I know I need to update my ticker) and $385 on another that was 0 percent.
2. Tim's rediscovered student loan (link) is still at $4100 -- about $600 of which will fall off once the loan is rehabbed.
3. We owe parents a total of $5,000.
4. We'd need a reasonable down payment for a car. Bus is not an option down there.
   
5. We'd need first/last/deposit for a new place
6. We'd need money to cover the move.
   

Certainly, it's not the best list in the whole wide world. Especially considering that we can only throw about $300-400 a month against it.


But it wasn't this that set my mind on overdrive. It was this fun, circle of facts:

• Tim's skin is so much better in AZ, he can work with almost no trouble
• With a full-time paycheck (and the cheaper rent), we could get out of debt quickly
• But we can't afford to move down there until we're further out of debt
• And we won't be out of debt for awhile, because his skin acts up so much
• And that won't change until we move down to AZ.
  

Talk about maddening!


Don't worry, I'm not going to rationalize a move at this point in time. Even if we could borrow/save up the money for a new place, we'd never be able to get financing for a reliable car. (Since we wouldn't know any mechanics, I'd probably just want to get a brand new one and keep it until it's absolutely dead.)


So we'd need around $1500-2000 for the apartment -- first & last month's rent, deposit and pet deposit -- plus a few thousand for a car downpayment, plus however much it would cost to move. Even being (extremely) conservative, that would be $5,000 we'd need just to get down there. And the cheaper rent would be negated by the car payment.


Still, there's part of me that keeps roving around the apartment, trying to figure out what we could get sell. Wondering if there's a point at which we could rationalize it, so that my husband can be comfortable in his own skin.


Not very smart from a personal finance perspective. It scares me a little, frankly, the idea of going further into debt. But there are times when money is a secondary concern.