Dad Psychology

In a particular way, I'm a hoarder -- that way being that I keep stuff and don't throw things out because I think one day I'll need them. So, I guess I'm a hoarder in the particular way that is the exact definition of a hoarder. So, yes. I'm a hoarder. But not in the bad way, unless you think it is bad not to throw stuff out.

But I think I come by it honestly. Hoarding is just a negative-nancy way of labeling "collecting." Are coin collectors "hoarders"? Stamp collectors? Celebrities with large collections of cars? But why do we collect? We do so out of fear. Fear of not having (and secondarily, being confronted with someone who DOES have and thus, feeling inferior.

A couple of generations before mine people were not called hoarders. The catastrophe that was the Holocaust, and before that, the tragedy of the Great Depression taught people about the fear of not having. This encouraged collecting as a hedge against the uncertainty of tomorrow. Things had value not because of what they were today but because there might be a need for them later and they would be inaccessible then. The pre-internet generation took a watered down (and less trauma-inspired) version of this because all we knew was what we had in front of us.

Let me explain.

When I was about 11 years old, I was a big M*A*S*H fan. The year was 1980 and I watched the show whenever it was on, which was 7pm on channel 5 for re-runs and 8pm, Mondays, on channel 2 for new episodes. Eventually, 11pm on channel 5 also but I had a bed-time before that. I memorized everything I could about the show, bought a trivia book about it and watched and watched. I even caught a peek of parts of the movie though I don't recall how or where. At some point, someone gave me a piece of paper that had on it the full lyrics to "Suicide is Painful," the Johnny Mandel song performed as an instrumental at the opening of each episode. The lyrics, typed neatly on a piece of stationery. I cherished it, keeping it safe, for many, many years. Why? Because it was a tangible representation of my interests and I didn't know if, had I thrown it out, I would ever have access to it again. Now, the internet has made every lyric accessible all the time so I can throw these things out, but I have been taught about that insurance policy of the extant so I can't muster the courage to chuck all the little scraps of existence that I have so assiduously collected over the years -- the visceral markers of my mind.

I also collected music -- albums, tapes and, eventually, CDs. I rarely listened to them because I enjoy the spontaneity and randomness of the radio, so why did I collect, cataloging each purchase on an index card with album, artist, media and track listing? Because I wanted to know that I always "had" if the situation ever arose that I "needed." I scoured Goldmine and other publications, looking for anyone who was selling the 45 of Mitch Ryder's version of Prince's "When U were Mine." Finding Bob Welch's Ebony Eyes or the Beach Boys' Holland was a cause for celebration. Never again would I feel the fear that, were all the external sources of music to disappear (or just change format), I would never hear these songs again. I t wasn't about snapping up something that might have value, and the potential for increase -- it was about simply having so there would never be a situation in which I would not have. Now? I can go onto my computer and find any song I want, at any time, with lyrics, explanation and even a video. Heck, I have even uploaded a song or two to the virtual clouds so that I, and others, can recapture a little bit of our history (though I don't know who else has a penchant for Carmel's "The Drum is Everything" the way I do). We live in an age of no fear.

Maybe this, psychologically, will change how the future unfolds and how the next generation acts. The "entitlement" that we see might be a natural extension of knowing that everything on the internet will continue to be there, and this generation does not know about "not having." [I am not, of course, talking about those who really don't have -- don't have money, food, lodging etc...clearly, I'm concerned with the thinking of those who don't worry about the very basic/essentials and who have access to the internet and baseline technology.] Why memorize when the internet remembers for me. Why collect when I can get whatever I want at any time. Why learn process when the cloud "does" the work and I can just dream of the desired end. Once I "friend" someone on social media, I needn't concern myself with real life connections.

The recent fad is about cleaning -- Marie something or other, who espouses a philosophy that one must remove things that don't "spark joy" or something like that. For a younger generation, this makes sense. You can get "it" or its equivalent whenever and wherever. Look at it online, buy it from someone in, basically, anywhere, or print up a 3-D version. Who "needs" anything anymore? We all, in a sense, already and always "have." But for someone like me - the collector (or "hoarder") things spark joy because they inspire a sense of security -- a feeling that I don't have to be without. The joy is a different one, but it is real nonetheless and throwing things out doesn't work because everything I have, I have because having, itself, is the source of the joy. I can't separate myself from a book, or an old newspaper because that thing has kept me calm for a long time. Sure I could buy it again, or read online, but my thinking is stuck in the "what if" of 25 years ago.

So I collect. I hoard. I hold onto -- people, things, ideas. But only because I grew up knowing that holding on to what was precious was the best way to make sure that I was never alone.