Legacy of the POD
By Laura Mills
Back in March, when I decided to put my house up for sale, I loaded a 12 x 6-foot POD with things I figured my daughter and I wouldn’t miss for a few months. The POD was placed in storage somewhere I don’t remember, and honestly, I haven’t thought about it since—except for a brief moment each month when my credit card statement has reminded me about the fee.
I’ve lived in my new house a little over two months now, and I was correct: we haven’t really missed a thing in there. Truthfully, I don’t even remember what exactly is in my POD, other than a rocking chair, a nightstand, holiday decorations, the old crib mattress, maybe a lamp or two, and miscellaneous toys and knick-knacks. It’s been kind of nice, actually, having an amorphous place like “storage” in which to hide these things that I wanted to keep yet can obviously live without. Also, it’s been comforting to be able to assume that anything still unaccounted-for waits for us there. (“Where are those jeans? Oh, they must be in the POD, in storage.”)
Yet I can’t go on paying the monthly fee forever, so I’ve arranged for my POD to arrive home next week. I’m nervous, as I’m still in the process of unpacking all the boxes the movers delivered back in July. What in the world am I going to do with all that additional stuff? I’ve had visions of me not even opening the POD, of instead selling it to the highest bidder sight-unseen with a wish for peace and happiness. It’s tempting. But more than likely I’ll unload it all into my garage. I’ve promised myself that I’ll comb through the items and weed out again…. But determining what I don’t need and then purging are two different beasts; letting go is, I know, harder—a lot harder—than just thinking or saying I’ll do it.