Trash, rubbish and the pre-move practices of ridding

The moment is getting closer and closer for our move. In anticipation of this we are continuing to clean out and rid. At the same time, I am working on a research grant application that is about how food things become rubbish--or how food un-becomes food. In preparation for this I have been reading about rubbish, trash and the governance of the practices around ridding; about things and their ability to enchant or disgust (seems a bit strong); and about how we practice self making (and the making of others) in the ways that we accumulate and discard. This scavenging in the academic literature about such things is interesting, but made more so through the engagements and reflections I have had to undertake while getting ready for this move.

Particularly, as we spend the weekend going through the loft sorting piles into things we don't use but can't bear to discard (and so will pay a storage company to hold for us) and those things we can get rid, I find myself considering the importance of this move as a moment of disruption in my relationship with these things. I can no longer just ignore them in the loft. I must think about these things that I was once compelled to acquire and actively consider what value they have to me--are they worth paying the storage price for? Or what value they may have to someone else--should the item go straight into the bin or the back of the car to take to the tip or do I think someone else might want it and is it worth the effort to find buyer. I am forced in this sorting to think about how the items came to be in my house. I am resentful of some of the items, while I don't like them, I feel compelled to keep them because they were once cherished belongings of a relative now dead, or (and this has less hold on me) the item was a gift. Other things filled a purpose long since past (e.g., baby carriers and a roasting pan that is fine for a US oven but too large for anything I have had in the UK). So we spend the day sorting and ridding and piling and selling and then ridding some more.

At work the same process is going on. I have to decide what books and papers to move now and what to move later. I have money to move things now, but I might need the works in the autumn while I am in Sheffield still. I also have to decide what to keep and what to just get rid of. I feel guilt over the piles of paper to go into the recycling. I find it very difficult to get rid of books but I know I won't use text books that I had when I was a student all those years ago. I read paper titles of papers photocopied from journals and think, "Oh I liked that paper, I must keep that." But I also know I won't read it again, thinking has in some cases moved on--but I do have some papers that were written in the 1960's that are still fresh today. I am also forced in this process of ridding to think about what I want to do in the future. This is not just the past that I am disposing but also areas of future work. Should I keep the labour market materials or not? Do I want to teach or do research in this area again, or do I want to do the work I am currently doing? Have I moved on? Is there a chance the two will dovetail one day and I will regret this process of ridding? I am torn.

I am finding that moving makes one face oneself and consider not just geographically where one wants to be but where one wants to go and also what one wants to remember. Some of this involves imposing material value onto the things that we rid; It certainly involves a process of considering the emotional value of this wasted material--guilt, longing, sadness, reflection, fear, regret. While the process of ridding is not entirely a pleasant task, it is fairly cathartic if unsettleing.