the safety of objects

I am, for the most part, not an accumulator of things. Emotional junk is hassle enough, why burden myself with physical clutter as well? Ha ha. This, however, does not blind me from the observation that we are defined - above all - by the things we "own". I am an unapologetic fan of generalisations and I do not consider this a particularly far-fetched one. It might be a tad over-dramatic and historically inaccurate to describe this as a symptom of the time and place we inhabit; but it's catchy so I'll go with it.

Yes we, myself and anyone reading - you and I may have never met but I know that you have, at minimum:
a) an internet connection;
b) had enough education as to be literate; and
c) the leisure of sneaking a peek into a fellow being's jumbled inner workings.

Few would disagree that for the term to continue any meaningful existence "possessions" must now encompass far more than the locality of one's residence, the logo on one's automobile, the contents of one's various storage areas (wardrobe, fridge, display cabinet, photo albums, investment portfolio, ...) - though these form an integral part. There's also pedigree, degree/s, the theoretical value placed on one's "earning capacity", the no less hypothetical value of one's "contacts" (to be distinguished from family and friends whose company - the incorporeal rather than the incorporated sort - promises no discernible financial gain), the wow-factor of one's pastimes ... Even experience, that most coveted of all human treasures, is so entwined with, so dependent upon, the depth and breadth of one's means - that how anyone could have the cheek of elevating themselves above earthly entanglements (not having a go at Buddhism here), is quite beyond me.

I was once asked to list some things-I-can't-live-without. Actually more than once, but all the other times were via mass chain mail superficial impersonal questionnaires which I of course refused to dignify with a response - so those don't count. My one face-to-face interrogator and I came to easy agreement that there's really not awful lot we need to stay alive. But what things make my life mine and hence worth living? Argh I feel a list-making fit coming on. Explanation may or may not follow subject to necessity and demand.

(In alphabetical i.e. no order)

• bedroom (bed non-essential)
• bike + accessories (incl. and esp. portable music player and raincoat) + scenery
• books
• car + driver's licence
• education (for what it's worth)
• footwear
• job
• guitar + sheet music
• internet connection
• kitchen + kitchenware
• laptop
• money (to be exact: more money than I need)
• N's playthings
• passport
• portable music player
• TV + DVD + VCR + cushioned seating
• work clothes

Dare I say that the removal of any (or all) of the above will not result in my annihilation, immediate or gradual. Yet I should enjoy much less, a life without all (or any) of them. I am willing to entertain the possibility of a no less agreeable lifestyle in which many (or most) of the items from the list do not feature - heck, even one led by myself at some future date - but these do just fine for now.