Broken Dreams for Sale

A few weeks ago, I helped S clean out maybe half of his surplus into a garage sale. Much of the stuff had been accumulated by his ex-wife or his ex-marriage. Some things were even still in the box with the card from the wedding. And like a masochist, I read these cards. I couldn't help thinking of how we can be happy in a relationship that later makes us so unhappy. To be in the presence of both of those phases, with all the stuff left over (such a burden!), I began to feel paranoid and a little mad. What was I thinking getting engaged? That was never my plan!

A significant amount of the stuff were the materials and tools for "craft" projects. Hundreds of cross-stitch patterns and expensive linens; embroidery floss by the bag full; every kind of crafting organizing container; two garbage bags of yarn. Every time I thought to myself, "well, this is cute. Maybe I should keep this," that mad part of my brain started screaming, "what makes you think this thing can make you happy, when it didn't for her?!" As crazy as I know that sounds, it did keep me from holding back too much of her junk. S's mom, a lover of junk, arrived within a few hours and filled her trunk up with stuff. Luckily, S took a lunch break and kept her from taking all of it. I don't look forward to cleaning out her house someday.

Many of the sale-patrons commented on how nice the stuff was, how beautiful, how it was just their style. I observed the cutesy, kitschy piles and smiled and took their money. Later, when we bagged up the leftovers for the Veteran's Donation Pick-up, those same people came back and stole it all. Even had the nerve to knock on the door and say, "if you have anything else you're getting rid of, give us a call." I had to simply push out the anger and say, "well, at least it's out of the house." Maybe it will make them happy.

I feel like my brain is resetting itself to when I was 20, and reevaluating my life-philosophys and goals. It's taken me eight weeks to really stop feeling stressed about my job and start feeling creative. Add to that, I've been reading about the Diggers and the 60s, and am starting to feel like I got sucked into a capitalistic frame of mind when I never wanted to. By that, I mean, I have put myself in a situation to need steady income because my spending demands it. Why did I do that? Why am I accumulating "stuff" and "property"? That I can't afford on the salary of a job that is sucking all my energy? Can I reset that part of my brain, my expectations, and think about buying only what I need, and only earning as much as I need to, and devoting more time to making art, writing blogs, taking pictures? Can I shake the feeling that I am living in a world where that life would be labeled a failure, lazy, worthless, self-indulgent and could I bear being called those things with a smile?

I dream about making things, about having community gatherings, happenings, poetry readings, exhibitions, photo sessions, critiques, workshops, speakers, drum circles, community gardens. I found a tiny, gutted house in the heart of one of the reviving arts' districts, a long, narrow, nearly windowless space, perfect for studio or gallery. Stars fill my eyes.

The catch? A few internet searches reveal the current owners are also artists who had a dream for this house. They tried and tried and eventually fled the city for another (even extensively documenting their disappointment and dashed dreams on their own blog). This house is their broken dream. I turn to the mad voice in my head and ask "what do you think?" It kicks its toe on the ground, refuses to make eye contact, and mumbles, "It might not work, but I'd sure like to try."

I question the sanity of taking the advice of mad voices in my head.