There's a man who lives down the street from me who's a big fan of dumpster diving. And by "fan", I mean, that's all he does. His back yard is a sea of garbage. He has 30 broken refrigerators on his giant back porch. His truck, which is parked in front of my house, is overflowing with discarded junk like broken baby strollers, cardboard boxes, paving stones, and dried out cans of paint.

To my knowledge, Dumpster Dan is not employed, and probably not eating well. He's impoverished. Yet he has all this crap lying around. Which is partly why I was so delighted to read the first sentence of Paul Graham's July 2007 essay about stuff:

I have too much stuff. Most people in America do. In fact, the poorer people are, the more stuff they seem to have. Hardly anyone is so poor that they can't afford a front yard full of old cars.

Oooh! Snap!

And also an interesting point: in the same way that the poorest Americans are also the fattest Americans, the poorest Americans still accumulate a whole lot of junk. As Graham says, "Stuff has gotten a lot cheaper, but our attitudes toward it haven't changed correspondingly. We overvalue stuff."

When less is more

I've only recently become enamored over the joys of having less. Buying less, owning less, and wanting less. I'm not a zen master of simple living, not by a long shot. And I came by the joy almost on accident.

A friend of mine was planning a visit to my house and was bringing her one year-old daughter along. In a slight panic, I ran around my home, attempting to 'baby-proof' the entire thing. Papers were shredded, junk discarded, floors mopped and swept, heavy vases hidden away in tall, locked cabinets.

After looking around, I suddenly realized how WONDERFUL my house looked. It was downright beautiful. Looking around a spic and span room relaxed me. Coming home, opening the door and being greeted by the site of an organized kitchen made me feel truly at home.

That's why I'm loving Paul Graham's essay about having too much stuff (via Unclutterer). In between Fight Club-esque moments of "your stuff owns you", he says: And unless you're extremely organized, a house full of stuff can be very depressing. A cluttered room saps one's spirits. One reason, obviously, is that there's less room for people in a room full of stuff. But there's more going on than that. I think humans constantly scan their environment to build a mental model of what's around them. And the harder a scene is to parse, the less energy you have left for conscious thoughts. A cluttered room is literally exhausting.

So, so true. Frustrations are multiplied when you don't have a clean, empty space to rest your eyes upon. Not only are piles of junk mentally jarring, but they remind you of how much work you still have left to do - sorting, organizing, and storing the stuff.

A sink full of dirty dishes from three days ago isn't just unpleasant to look at - it reminds you that you have to do the dishes. And that you haven't had time to do the dishes for three days. THAT'S exhausting.

"Bargain" is not French for "free"

I'm delighted that Graham touches on one of the insane aspects of our culture, which is accumulating more stuff when we don't need it, because it's free, and having more stuff makes us feel richer:

That was a big problem for me when I had no money. I felt poor, and stuff seemed valuable, so almost instinctively I accumulated it. Friends would leave something behind when they moved, or I'd see something as I was walking down the street on trash night (beware of anything you find yourself describing as "perfectly good"), or I'd find something in almost new condition for a tenth its retail price at a garage sale. And pow, more stuff.In fact these free or nearly free things weren't bargains, because they were worth even less than they cost. Most of the stuff I accumulated was worthless, because I didn't need it.

I'm frequently tempted to buy things that can be resold with a little fixing. You know, lovely old dressers that need a new coat of paint. Clothing that can be made "hip" again with a few tucks here and there. But the truth is, I don't have the time or the space to handle projects like these. If I had my own workshop and a flexible job, I'd jump at the chance to restore antiques or resell clothing.

But I have to accept the fact that my time and my living space are very limited. Remember, free or almost free stuff is only a great deal if you (a) use it, or (b) have the time, space, and energy to restore it and sell it for profit.

How to stop: don't start

Simply getting rid of stuff isn't going to keep your life junk-free. Part of the trick in eliminating junk in your life is to refrain from accumulating more stuff you don't need and can't afford.

As Graham writes, "The really painful thing to recall is not just that I accumulated all this useless stuff, but that I often spent money I desperately needed on stuff that I didn't. Why would I do that? Because the people whose job is to sell you stuff are really, really good at it. The average 25 year old is no match for companies that have spent years figuring out how to get you to spend money on stuff. They make the experience of buying stuff so pleasant that "shopping" becomes a leisure activity."

Anyone who has ever spent $67 on a bottle of shampoo and some organic fruit at Whole Foods understands this sentiment. Shopping is a way to spend a Sunday afternoon, right? It's so pleasant, so breezy, so self-affirming.

Shopping centers know this. All of the malls in my area are undergoing major renovations, making them more attractive places to hang out in. The University Village, which is near the University of Washington but packed with stores that students are too poor to shop in, has been wildly successful in turning an ugly, rundown strip mall into a lovely and appealing shopping destination. Replete with playgrounds, fountains, lovely landscaping, outdoor seating - you could spend an entire day in the Village and not be lacking in any services or products.

That's a dangerous situation for me. The longer I linger, the more I want to spend. So I've learned to avoid langurous afternoons in the Village.

Self-interrogation

In his essay, Graham discusses some of the tactics that he uses to keep himself from buying stuff that he doesn't need: [A]sk yourself, before buying something, "is this going to make my life noticeably better? [W]ill this be something I use constantly? Or is it just something nice? Or worse still, a mere bargain?

Here's what I ask myself before buying something that I don't really NEED:

1. Is this going to help me achieve any of my goals? (running shoes - yes; lip plumper - no)
2. Which of my friends will be impressed by, or envious of, this item? If all of those friends would be disinterested in this item, would I still want it?

Those questions help me mentally suss out the motivations behind my desire for an object. Peer pressure can be a powerful thing, and I try to use it for the forces of good rather than evil. If I imagine that all of my friends disapprove of a shiny new iPhone, I can offer myself a more unbiased opinion about my own feelings regarding my desire for one. If I bought this, and everyone hated it, would I still think it was a great purchase?

That's how I avoided purchasing: a fast motorcycle, lip injections, and a tattoo on my forearm.

As I slowly work towards a less cluttered life, I'm constantly realizing how empowering it is to have less. Of course, this is the opposite of what we are told by advertisers; we are led to believe that only owning things will give us a feeling of power. It's almost jolting to discover what a lie that is, even if I've proclaimed all my life that I understood the falsehoods behind the marketing.