when we hold on to things

This morning I had a bit of an epiphany. I realized that the reason I hold onto things, especially the extras and the duplicates, is because I want to be able to say "yes."

Just this week, when my parents were in town, my mother asked if I had an extra hat she could borrow. "Of course," I said. And I did, several if you’re wondering. On racks and shelves, in my car, on my golf bag: a golf hat, a tennis hat, a waterproof hat, a hiking hat, and a few others I couldn't name off the top of my head (pun not intended).

That's the thing about extras. When it comes time to pare down, I can always conjure some future version of myself who desperately needs the object I'm about to release. If I give it up today, I'll surely regret it tomorrow. You never know when a guest might need one, or when some other perfectly justifiable reason comes along.

But here's the reality: in five years, I've been asked for an extra hat exactly once. And I should mention that I own one hat that I actually love. One that has some meaning to me, the only one I reach for on any given day.

We want to be able to say yes. To be agreeable, to be helpful, to be necessary, the person who has what someone needs. But the cost is real: hundreds of dollars in things we don't use, and a low-grade, periodic anxiety about having too much.

The hat is small, but the pattern scales. As a realtor, I regularly meet buyers who insist they need that extra bedroom just in case guests come to stay. One could argue that $75,000 in mortgage savings would cover a lot of nights at the Marriott for the in-laws, but I digress.

How many things do we hold onto just in case? How many people? How much burden?

These things have no place, nor will they likely ever.

If somebody needs a hat, Walmart is just down the road. I’ll take you there.