Ceci n’est pas un blog.

Many years ago (back when interest rates were reasonable), I was trying to buy a house. And so we visited house after house, trying to find the one that seemed just right and was within budget. One house we visited was particularly lovely, in a good neighborhood, well maintained with nice landscaping. It checked so many of the boxes. In the process of visiting the house with the realtor, we somehow learned that the owner of the house was deceased, and his parents were selling it. The house was tidy but had not been emptied of the belongings of the previous owner, who, judging from the contents of the house, appeared to be a man about the same age as me. Of course, I never knew the guy’s name or what had happened to him, but seeing the closet full of his clothes is something that stuck with me. You can learn a lot about even a complete stranger by looking at what they owned.

George Carlin said, “After you die, your stuff becomes your ‘personal effects.’” And what about those personal effects? Is a person’s estate carefully planned out so that each descendent will receive an appropriate amount of stuff? Both professionally and personally, I have seen families erupt in all-out war over the stuff that a parent or grandparent left behind. And not even the cash, but the stuff! Siblings never speaking to one another again because one claimed that chair from mom’s living room!

What about when the death was not anticipated? There are families who leave a loved one’s room exactly the way it was on the day the person died, allowing a portion of their house to become a silent museum of the decedent. On the other hand, there are families who rush to organize and clear out the person’s stuff as soon as possible. Both of these strategies make sense in their own way. In the former, the family is trying to hold on to the person by holding onto their stuff, and in the latter, the family can’t bear to look at the person’s stuff because of its connection to the one who’s no longer here.

When my brother died, the rest of us went to his dorm room to pack everything up and bring it home. It was an agonizing task. Some of his belongings made me laugh, such as the mint condition Whitney Houston vinyl. Some of the things in his room made my heart hurt, like the sizable collection of beer bottles (Christ, how much had he been drinking?). If you die suddenly, the people who survive will see all your stuff. Read your diary. Check the back of your sock drawer. Make sure you have a good friend to clear your browser history for you.

Most of us have too many belongings in general, even those of us who aren’t technically hoarders. Someday, someone will have to sort them out. Or have them sold in an estate sale. Or just throw the damn things out already, I don’t know why you’re hanging on to them anyway! Having so much stuff could be a call to live more simply, but it’s also a way of defining what mattered to someone. My dad had many books on his bookshelves that he had loved, and after he died, I sat in his office, reading their titles and thinking of the conversations he and I had had about them. He had also been a big fan of his cell phone, some sort of Samsung situation. While my mom quickly packed up and donated some of his clothes, his phone remains at home, powered on and with the bill still paid. I guess you never know when my dad will receive an important call.

As for my own stuff? Good luck with all the books, everyone. And the clothes from multiple decades. And so many journals! Yikes, what will happen when my secrets are out? However, don’t worry, as I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon. I’m still using this stuff. Most of it. What will all of this stuff say about me, when I’m no longer here to speak for myself? I still have a china tea set that was my grandmother’s. I have tshirts that belonged to my brother. These things have no monetary value, but they are treasures.

Archaeology is an entire discipline devoted to the things people leave behind. The things, and putting together stories that go with them. Future archaeologists may analyze my stuff and say, “Boy howdy, this one loved a cardigan!” Provided that my sweater collection isn’t rotting in some landfill by then.

Perhaps no one will want my stuff. About 99% of it is mostly useless. But I have saved unassuming things from the people in my life who are no longer here, and I would venture that they wouldn’t have guessed which things I chose to keep. Our stuff says a lot about us, but we can never really be sure of which stuff is telling what story.