I Don’t Have a Car, I Don’t Have a House

I don’t have a car.

I don’t have a house.

In fact, I own very few things that can be called “possessions”. I love books, but I have no problems giving them away or selling them when I need to pack up my life and go. The ones that I keep would be gifts, stored with a sister til it’s time for me to take roots somewhere again.

The only thing that has been faithfully following me around is the 20++ year old Ovation guitar. It is not mine to begin with; it’s a little something that I “borrowed” from my brother. I just never bothered to return it. He has since given up on seeing this guitar and bought himself a replacement in the form of a Martin that I’ve only been allowed to touch once – under his watchful presence. Smart.

I don’t have anything else on me that is older than a year or two. I give a lot of things away. I lose a lot of things too. Some things I broke or set fire to. Every girl needs to do that sometimes.

I am not a slacker.

(Would you believe me when I say that I have been most described as “very accomplished”?)

I am not irresponsible.

(I’m just lazy. Which is a different thing.)

I am not a minimalist.

(Well, I am, but not in the shopping-sense.)

I am not against material possessions. In fact, I want a lot of things, just like the next materialistic person. Maybe some day a 9-room loft high-up in the sky. With a fast, little silver car in the basement parking lot.

I just don’t own anything.

My whole life can fit into a 7kg-maximum overhead bin suitcase; and even then I over-pack. This purple and pink hardcase Lojel luggage, it’s been following me around for 7 years.

I guess you can count that as a possession.

So yes, I don’t have a car.

I don’t have a house.

Instead, I have a borrowed guitar.

And a suitcase to call home.

(This too is a true story.)

Advertisement