The Unexamined Life

ὁ δὲ ἀνεξέταστος βίος οὐ βιωτὸς ἀνθρώπῳ ...

The unexamined life is not worth living.—Socrates

Fuck Socrates. What does he know? This fall I spent five weeks examining 40 years worth of my life’s detritus. And I can tell you with certainty, it wasn’t worth the examination.

The occasion for the exercise was the cleaning up and cleaning out of our NJ condo in preparation for its sale. I finally dug into the many boxes of high school memorabilia and uncovered honor roll certificates, notebooks from sophomore English and more. PSAT score, SAT scores, National Merit commendations, Iowa scores and more. I threw away 30+ years of birthday cards, handwritten notes from my parents, friends and more. Much more. Then I plunged into the books of college text books, spiral notebooks filled with class notes, doodles and love notes, research and term papers and final exam blue books. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. There were computerized print outs of final grades, freshman orientation materials, campus maps and more. Much more. I shredded journals, diaries and love letters and photos that still made me tear up, congratulating myself on how much lighter I felt. I shredded long-winded Hay job descriptions written in the mid-80’s, folders full of work memos and correspondence (including a mid-‘70’s letter to a pension-holder apologizing for miscalculating his benefit and offering “May I be struck by lightning if this quote isn’t correct.”). I am not good with nostalgia. It’s the next best thing to radioactive. It consumes me unhealthily, and so I try to stay as far away as I can get. This kind of disciplined avoidance creates a mountain of ancient history collecting silently but steadily in the attic or the basement or the back of your head. I threw away 99% of it. There are some love letters and pictures even I couldn’t let go.

From there we moved on to Peter’s office where nearly 30 years of income tax returns were spilling out of a tall file cabinet. Peter’s office—and the collection of cobwebs, candy wrappers, coffee cups, dust moats and ancient stuff that filled it—is off limits to everyone. That includes me and our housekeeper, Adria. So the dust fairies have reigned supreme for a long, long time. But now, Peter had to clean out his stuff. Actually, shovel is a better description than clean.

And so, finally, it was done. From the clean up we moved on to the newest way to sell one’s house--staging. No, staging doesn’t capture the essence of it. Staaaaaging is nearer to the fact. And the story of staaaaaging and selling the condo will appear in the next blog.