Exile or Exultation

Once I decided to quit my job and go walkabout in northern Spain, a few things had to be dealt with. Namely: the reality of a consumer trying to leave it all behind. So what are we supposed to do with the closetful of clothes that definitely won't be coming in our backpack to Europe,  and where do we ditch that "charmingly retro" '80s couch we inherited from our parents' basement? More importantly, how do we make it all disappear in less than a month?

These are big questions. Luckily for us North Americans, we have been raised to believe that one person's trash is another's treasure. And everybody wants to find their own personal treasure. I may be a reluctant consumer, but I live in a society that has bought into the idea that we are what we own. The biggest contradiction in this is, we tend to value quantity over quality, thereby lessening the resale value of pretty much everything. What does this mean for me? I might be able to get rid of everything I own, but I'm not likely to make much money doing it.

The first thing to do is decide what is worth something to you (and to somebody else) and what you'd be okay giving away for practically nothing. I'm talking about the difference between selling stuff online at reasonable prices directly to people who are looking for those items versus having a big-ass garage sale where people will offer you 25 cents for your brand-new blender. The trouble is, we all value our own things more than anyone else values them. You can grumble and try to barter, but ultimately, if you want it gone, you will take that 25 cents.

Don't let yourself believe that you don't have personal feelings for what you own, because you do. We all do. Those placemats were a gift from your grandma. That is the rug you vomited on after that epic party you'll never forget and yet can't quite remember. That brand-new blender made the smoothie you drank the morning after you had sex with your boyfriend for the first time. We attach memories and meaning to everything, including inanimate objects that keep our lives in running order. Selling this stuff becomes a trip down memory lane, and it is also the reason most of us can't stand to move or declutter our houses, no matter how much shit we keep cramming in there.

But a cluttered house is more than a metaphor for our unhappiness; it might just be the cause of it. The more we own, the more responsibility we have to bear. The more we buy, the more we have to eventually get rid of. What I find so interesting is that most people don't think about where things come from, who made them, what materials they are made of, what processing and electricity and man-power went into making all of the items we buy at Walmart and Costco. We just see them and want them and buy them. Desire rules our consumerized brains. But that is only half of the story. The really disastrous side of things is where they go when they've lost their value to us and we are done with them and throw them away. This is the part of the story that most people would rather not think about, would rather not know. Where does all this stuff end up? And most importantly, whose responsibility is it?

I think it should be the consumer's, first and foremost. Everything we buy should be thought of as a process, a circle of life. Do I need this to survive? Will I value it when I own it? Will it be reusable? Will it recycle easily or biodegrade naturally? If not, what the HELL am I supposed to do with it? I believe that if everyone thought of their consumer items in this way, there would be a serious change in the way the world thinks about capitalism. If we didn't think, "Somebody made this useless piece of crap so it must be valuable," but rather "How did our world get to the point where someone thought that it would be a good idea to make this useless piece of crap?", then our world would head in a much more sustainable direction. I think it is the consumer's responsibility (and obviously the manufacturer's as well--quit making shit nobody needs!) to look at what we buy and demand a change in the way we all consume. Things built to last, things made to be reused, things with more than one purpose. But of course, it still comes down to personal greed. Do we really need everything we want? Absolutely not.

This reminds me of a story I heard a few years ago about a guy who decided to carry his garbage around with him everywhere he went. I've looked, but can't find any record online, so if anyone has heard of him, or something like it, please let me know! In my search, I found a bunch of other fantastic initiatives, both personal ones and community-based ones, so check them out! Google "Zero Waste Challenge" and "Zero Garbage Challenge." Fantastic ideas! Anyway, that is a whole different tangent!

My second garage sale!

So, once you've sold all your valuable items online, and you've had a garage sale or two to make the last bit of money from your stuff, there are still a number of great places to get rid of unwanted consumer goods. There are some wonderful charities that collect unwanted items so they can sell them to make money for their cause. These include (in Victoria specifically) the Salvation Army, Women in Need Community Cooperative, the Society of St. Vincent de Paul, Value Village, and a variety of other thrift store donation places. If you still want to try to make some money on those clothing items that just aren't going to fit in your backpack, then consignment stores are a great way to at least get some cash back. The only problem here is that they will only give you a small cut in the profits when the items sell, and that could be months after you've taken them in. This takes some serious long-term planning, and there are no guarantees. One place I know of in town, Leche's Clothing Exchange, will purchase your things outright and give you money for them. But like all consignment places, they only take what they think they can sell.

So to end on a personal note, I'm sitting on the floor, having sold almost all semblances of furniture, looking at my apartment that will soon be empty. I have 5 more days before I load up my U-Haul and head back to the prairies, and I find that now that the major work of selling and donating my stuff is done, I'm in a bit of a vacuous place, ready to leave but not quite able to. Three more days of work; a few more dinners out with good friends; the final packing of my things. I've done my last grocery shop for the week, and I've bought all the gear I need for my adventure in Spain (good quality gear that will be reused for years to come!). So now what do I do in this weird state of limbo?

This week, and month in general, has felt a lot like exile rather than embarking on an exciting adventure. Ten years' worth of goodbyes must be not only said but also felt, and I find I've been on the verge of tears for an entire week. So many excellent people have given me hugs and farewells, and any ill-will toward others quickly disappears when you say goodbye. Fond memories are the ones that last. I guess all that's left to do is switch my focus from saying goodbye to Victoria to saying hello to the possibilities ahead. http://youtu.be/HBZ8ulc5NTg

Sunshine in a Bag

It is hard to believe that 94 different people could be interested in my blog, but I'll take that as a sign that it's time to write Post #2!

So, it has been a month of packing and selling and hocking and sharing my unwanted things, and, of course, saying my goodbyes to people and places. I have lived in Victoria for 10 years as of April this year. I came out here when I was 23 and full of possibility, and I'm leaving when I'm 33 and, as it turns out, once again full of possibility. Somewhere in the middle there, it felt like most of my life consisted of little life rafts of excitement adrift in the Sea of the Same Old.

That is not to say my life in between hasn't been full of wonderful things. I am an extraordinarily fortunate person. I have been born a Canadian, first and foremost, and that has already set me ahead in the world. I am lucky enough to come from a loving family; my parents still laugh together, and I think that stability has made me a more reliable and confident person. I have a close sister to laugh and to cry with, and her kids remind me that life is full of small miracles; being an Auntie is definitely one of them. I have some truly amazing and diverse friends around the globe who make me want to travel to the ends of the earth to visit them, or just go across town to share a bottle of wine and talk till the wee hours. And finally, I have no physical, mental or emotional problems that need to be medicated or otherwise treated as anything but average. Oh, and I have been blessed with a body and a mind that allow me to work hard and strive to succeed whenever possible. Ok, you get it. I'm lucky. But who in this world doesn't want more than they already have?

And so, after 10 years of growing comfortable, I'm now in the throes of throwing (and selling and sharing) it all away and living out of a backpack. No, it doesn't sound like I'm getting more than I already have, but that would be looking at it from a purely Capitalist point of view. I'm throwing away the material for the immaterial, and I have to admit, I haven't been so happy in a long time! I'm walking around with a smile on my face--a lot! People in the street are starting to give me funny looks, cuz I just burst out with friendly smiles at every corner! What is wrong with her?? Well, it's a little thing called possibility.

I'm not so naive as to think this change in my life is going to be all sunshine in a bag ("Clint Eastwood" by the Gorillaz, 2001, oh yes I did), and in reality, I'm likely to curse the many painful steps I'm inevitably going to take on this trip. But I know that I will forever remember the experience of it all. I know with certainty that it will open up the possibility of meeting new people, seeing new places and experiencing new things. Out of everything in my life so far, it is the adventure of travel that consistently puts the biggest smile on my face, whether dreaming about it beforehand, experiencing it at the time or just in memory of that time when... Once you've discovered what really makes your soul happy (and not just satisfied, content or complacent), how can you possibly settle for less?

Galician Generosity

"I want you to have it." --Yanira from Santiago

When you make a big decision in your life, it can be as though the whole world is cheering you on. A few months ago, knowing that it was time to start spicing up my life with a change in direction, I decided that I would go back to Spain. The last time I was there was 2006, and it has stayed in my mind and my heart as a constant reminder of how exciting and wonderful life can be. I had heard whispers of the Camino in the north of Spain as I toured around the south, exploring the olive groves and Moorish palaces of Sevilla and Granada. I'd even met a few people who had walked parts of the Camino, who told tales of sore feet and enlightened hearts. But it wasn't until last year, when I read a blog post by a friend of mine and his wife who were walking it as part of a year of traveling the world, that I remembered these whispers and started to look into it again.

See, I was feeling pretty safe and secure in my good job and comfortable bed. But wouldn't you know it, bored senseless with the way I'd sunken into the "Velvet Rut of Victoria," a well-known phenomenon where life is just so comfortable but not really going anywhere that you forget what the word hardship even means. The hardest thing I had to cope with was deciding which cafe to go to when mine was closed on holidays. Poor me. But dammit, I wasn't only becoming bored, I was becoming boring.

And that was when the world started coming together to cheer me on. A plan started to form in my mind. Over the next 3 months, I researched and read and watched and plotted my escape. But it was going to be a year from then, when I'd saved enough money to comfortably leave for months on end. Certainly not at the end of the summer! I started looking into proper gear, and I suddenly had a great reason to start walking around Victoria--to see how far I could go without sore feet! Summer was here and the sun stayed up late enough that I could go for 5km walks at night before dark. The weekends were beautiful, so I started following some of the walking paths around town and discovered that a 10km walk really isn't that far. I could do it in a couple of hours really comfortably. My first 15km walk led me all the way up to the Oak Bay Marina and around Dallas Road, where I found a path I'd never seen before, leading up to a lookout I'd always wanted to see but had never bothered to. But after each walk I did, I realized more and more that I wasn't going to be able to wait until next year. I was ready now.

And I was in this frame of mind when I met Eunate, a Basque woman visiting Canada to learn English and have a holiday. She was staying with a good friend of mine, and the first day we met, we chatted nonstop for hours, half in Spanish and half in English. I had forgotten what a thrill it is to use my second language, no matter how rusty. I had also forgotten how easy it is to connect to people when you are open to new possibilities. That night I couldn't sleep. We'd talked about the Camino, and we'd talked about life and how we must live each moment. We talked about how some moments are meant to be quiet and dull, and how those moments are there to urge us forward to the loud and exciting moments that are less frequent but far more memorable. She'd unknowingly convinced me that it was time to act.

Two days later, I was plotting my escape for real. Plane ticket and resignation letter and notice to my landlord and sale of my scooter. All in one day. July 30 goes down in my book of momentous occasions. And then the world cheered and confirmed for me that I was making the right decision.

Eunate and I were lunching at a local organic market when a lovely couple and their newborn baby sat down at the table next to us. They heard us speaking our wonderful Spanglish and asked Eunate where she was from. The Basque country of northern Spain. And where were they from? The woman was Spanish too--from Santiago de Compostela. What? How was that even possible? Here I was, a month and a half away from walking the Camino de Santiago de Compostela, and halfway around the world at a little organic market cafe outside of town, I just happen to meet a woman my age from there. A woman who, when she found out I was going to do the Camino, insisted that she give me her Galician scallop shell, the symbol of the Camino and of St. James himself that all true pilgrims wear on their backpack, the one she brought to Canada because she'd had a feeling the year before that she was going to find someone here to give it to. As it turned out, that someone was me. :)