Moving is really just a massive inventory—itemizing the tangible pieces of life—figuring out what to hold onto and what can be discarded—it’s an evaluation and I’m in the middle of that evaluation process—getting rid of old letters, architectural magazines, tattered clothing that is barely functional as anything other than cleaning rags, the notes I wrote to myself in the distant past and then stuck in drawers to be forgotten—weighing sentimental and emotional value of these items—their true functionality in my life—
When I moved back to Vancouver just over two years ago it was more or less a “clothes on my back” situation so I haven’t accumulated too much stuff—I’ve been fairly careful about the amount and the importance of things I’ve brought into my life—balancing necessity and aesthetic beauty with a certain Spartan ideology has worked well for me—still there is the occasional find of a letter or photograph from my past that just has no place in my present life—and that’s what the recycling bin is for