Empty Box Syndrome

“I treasured those old basketball programs, but the box began to take on some kind of nasty symbolism, something about my mistaking the artifacts of living for life itself. That box—and it was a really big box—was taking up garage space that might otherwise be used for, say, winter clothing and emergency nonperishables. OK, the problem was less about storage capacity than psychic space; I suffered through insomniac nights picturing my future home library where the programs were shelved in chronological order in plastic slipcovers. In the mornings I looked in the mirror at my tired eyes and thought, This can’t be right.”

Read more thoughts on fandom, clutter and the enduring weight of precious things in “Empty Box Syndrome, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Let Go of My Old Rebel Stuff,” from Vegas Seven magazine.