The comedian George Carlin, who died earlier last year, once did a humorous bit called "A Place for My Stuff." It was a routine that I recall him performing during a live performance in the '60s.
One of the lines in the monologue was, "A house is just a pile of stuff with a cover on it." He also lamented that sometimes we need to move to a bigger house because we no longer have enough room for all our "stuff."
I didn't think about it too much back in those days, since I was living in a cramped dorm room with three other guys and eating bologna sandwiches. Many years later, I acquired a better appreciation for the point he was trying to make.
Early in my working career I had a business acquaintance who was very successful. During the course of our friendship, I attended a meeting at his lakeside house. Being young and ambitious, I was extremely impressed with his private airplane, boats, cars and the beautiful home. At dinner, I had commented to him how I envied his success and all of his "stuff." I'll always remember him telling me that possessions are not as gratifying as they appear to be. Basically, he said that the more you have, the more you have to take care of. He said all of his "stuff" required upkeep and he spent most of his time maintaining it rather than enjoying it.
It's amazing how much clutter one accumulates during a lifetime. Much of what fills our closets, attics, garages and basements sits for years in boxes and never gets used. Rather than part with those things, we continue to store them and move the boxes from house to house knowing that someday we surely will find a need for whatever is in them.
Americans have so much stuff that we currently rent in excess of 2 billion square feet of public storage space because we don't have room for it all in our homes. In the '70s, the average house was 1,300 square feet, while today it exceeds 2,300 square feet, and that doesn't count the garage and shed.
Like Carlin said, we need more room for our stuff. In short, America suffers from what has been referred to as "consumption dysfunction." We just keep buying more and more.
At some point in life, we come to realize that all that "stuff" is like an anchor tied around our ankle and it feels like the boat is about to capsize.
For us, the light bulb came on when we began planning for our move to northern Michigan. The date was still well over the horizon, but the clock was ticking. We knew that we would be moving into a small cottage and that there would be no way to fit the 10 pounds of potatoes into the five-pound bag. Thank goodness for garage sales and ebay! What we didn't sell we donated or gave to friends and relatives.
The process of parting with these things was painful at times. Somewhere during the ordeal we began to experience a feeling of relief. We soon discovered that "treasures" no longer in our possession were soon forgotten. We also felt great joy in knowing that what we gave away was helping someone who needed it more than we did. It's a work in progress and we still have a few more boxes to go through. One of these cold winter days, we will be taking a drive to the local Goodwill store with another load.
I am sure that there are many of you out there who feel the same way and could help a needy family and yourselves by giving away some of that "stuff" that Carlin referred to. In times like these, it could make someone's new year a little brighter and your burden a little lighter.
Ed Hungness and his wife owned their cottage on Fife Lake for six years before moving there after his retirement in 2005. His writing draws from life experiences and a love for the outdoors and northern Michigan. He can be reached at edhungness@yahoo.com or care of the Record-Eagle.


