It is spring and I declutter. I sorted my books and sent a quarter of them packing for resale to Phoenix Bookstore in Noe Valley. Due to a Kindle, I may never buy another paper product. I went through my closets and dropped off a bag of clothes, a skateboard , and a yoga map at the Goodwill near Market Street. I took down old posters – anything unframed. Gone Ibiza announcement, gone scandalous Iceland cartoons, gone silver-on-black portraits from Boston.

I perused everything I’ve made. My apartment is covered with my fabric and wire sculptures – on walls, under tables, and unfurling like plants on bookcases. Some projects – such good ideas at the time – I now dismantle back into components for other upcoming work. I shockingly realize that I don’t need anything more for Burning Man. I am complete. I’ve built enough that lights up and can be worn for this one body of mine. If I can wear something different every day for a week, well a couple of weeks, isn’t that enough?

It is a bit odd to think I may not make anything more for myself. I empathize with my carpenter father. After stuffing his house with his own furniture, he now asks sons if there is anything they want? He has dutifully and generously built for me a bench, bed, and bookcase. I should be making the light-up equivalents for a happy collaborator.

It is spring and I am emptying. I deplete my winter larder of meals from the freezer. I sorted the spice drawer, emptied unwanted toiletries, purged the storage locker, and even curated my iTunes collection to delete much of what was there.

It is spring and I am empty. I have spent two hard months getting rid of so much that I just a tidy shell remains. Is this the opposite of nesting? – I feel no great urge to buy a couch. Am I making room for the new or just making room for the empty? Out with Greg goes so much stuff. Perhaps I prepare to depart or for an unexpected change. I may live lighter but is this living?

It has been quite a long time since I felt that I both have so little and yet so little to look forward to. I hesitate to make plans. A future might involve stuff, and stuff is not what I want now. I crave experiences. A strong spring wind could blow me in any direction.