My Closet

I don't actually have a closet. Fortunately, The Donald Situation graciously allows me to store my outdoor stuff in the back corner of his walk-in closet. The two black and yellow storage totes are new. One holds my tents and my backpack, the other just some miscellaneous camping gear. The yellow duffel bag holds every bit of running gear I own. My grey Paco Pad hangs on the wall behind the door. And of course, my Craftsman tool box is plenty large to hold every tool I will ever need for the rest of my life.

There is no kayak in this closet, stood on its end and bungeed to the closet rod. There are no throw ropes, PFDs, sprayskirts, or helmets spilling off the edge of my toolbox, no paddles reaching to the ceiling. I did not hedge my bets by hanging on to some small piece of kayaking gear. It is all completely gone.

Kayaking was the last activity I got into because I thought the gear was cool, and I had a lot of fun with it. Ultimately, though, I've reached a point where merely owning the gear associated with an activity no longer satisfies me. I need to actually do the activity to really enjoy it. I wasn't kayaking, so I got rid of all the kayaking crap.

In '08 when everything hit the fan, I had a 12' x 30' storage room so packed with stuff you had to climb to get through it. I had a trailer full of mowers and trimmers, a fishing boat mounted to a customized PWC trailer, multiple kayaks, multiple drum kits I couldn't play, tubes for launching fireworks, and a dismantled dog kennel. I had a fucking South Bend lathe cabinet. I can't remember what else was in there. Bit by bit, some by ebay, some by Craigslist, some by garbage truck, the shit disappeared. The stuff in Donald's closet is all that's left.

I'm never going back.