Last article, I wrote about my moving escapade.

After the journey was completed, I had a strange conversation with the mountains of boxes I had to face. The following is the awkward yet teachable moment I had with my boxes.

Upon walking into the room to breath a sigh of relief:

Boxes: “We own you. You do realize that, don’t you?”

Me: “God, is that you?”

Boxes: “Well, so to speak, we could be your god, but alas we are not. We are your possessions.”

Me: “I must be hallucinating from the dehydration. Stop talking to me, you’re weirding me out.”

Boxes: “Oh, you don’t mean that, sugar, why don’t you come over here and pay attention to me.”

Me: “Sugar – what box just called me sugar?”

Boxes: “The one over here marked ‘Crystal’s stuff’. I’m the box of memories of your dates with your wife. Those were some wonderful days.”

Me: “Wow, look at this. I can’t believe I wrote all of these love letters and poems. I haven’t done that in….”

Boxes: “A long time, I know. I’ve been neglected. You’ve changed a lot in 11 years.”

Me: “Hey come on now, I have a lot on my plate. I have a job, bills, kids and everyday life stuff going on here. I don’t have time for romance anymore. I barely have time for me.”

Boxes: “Well, you betta come up with some time, homeboy, check yo-self befo’ you wreck yo-self!”

Me: “Do I have a rap CD playing or something? Who’s wrecking who?”

Boxes: “Over here, dude, the box with all yo junk from the days of old school bro.”

Me: “Is that the box from my younger college days?”

Boxes: “That’s right, word up, home slice.”

Me: “Home slice? I used to talk like that? Look, here’s some old CDs I used to listen to. I sure have grown up since then.”

Boxes: “I know, man. I been chillaxin’ around here fo’ years waitin’ fo’ you to go get me outta this mess.”

Me: “No problem, I think you need speech therapy. That isn’t me anymore. I’ll put you in the thrift store pile.”

Boxes: “You should have done that years ago, Chris. Instead you’ve hung onto these mountains of boxes. Maybe in hopes of clinging to a part of yourself that no longer is.”

Me: “Gee, that sounded quite wise, I’m glad I kept you – whoever you are.”

Boxes: “I’m one of the boxes of books you have. The one with all your philosophy and theology books in it. I’ve been elected by all the boxes to talk some sense into you.”

Me: “Some sense? Am I out of my mind or something?”

Boxes: “Why, yes, in a way you are. You’ve kept boxes of ‘stuff’ for years, now look at your pile! How long have you lived without these possessions that these boxes hold? You really don’t need all of this clutter, do you?”

Me: “Oh, well, I suppose some of these boxes haven’t been gone through in 10 years or so. But there is always the possibility of one day…”

Boxes: “One day you may accumulate more stuff, and then what? What good are more things taking up space in your life when there are things less important taking up space already?”

Me: “Oh, you mean the whole romance thingy right?  Well, I was thinking about that. Yes, that love letterbox is definitely staying. After all, she called me sugar.”

Boxes: “That box is just a box – it represents the very things that you’ve decided not to place importance on anymore, while holding onto those things that are less important.”

Me: “You’re good! You, my philosopher, are a definite keeper! You have opened my eyes. I will start thumbing through all the junk, and getting back to what’s really important. You deserve a raise.”

Boxes: “They’re not paying me. My services are free of charge.”

Me: “Oh, sorry. Well, you deserve something for all your cardboard wisdom.”

Boxes: “Getting you to de-clutter your life is enough, my apprentice.”