Change

Anyone who has known me for an extended period of time knows that I am not at all afraid of big changes.

Long hair? Chop it off!

When it's summer, I can't wait for fall. At the end of high school, I was ready for college. Senior year of college, I itched to get out into the real world.

When I'm single, I long for someone to date. When I'm dating someone, I want my freedom back.

Impromptu, unplanned weekend trip? Bring it!

I'll pick up my whole life and move so quickly that some people who know me are left in a cloud of dust scratching their heads.

And lord knows I am not afraid to change jobs. Take my last switch, for instance. Those who know me well were excited. Those who don't know me well just blinked a few times and said, "Again?" when I announced the news that I was starting something new.

But for some reason, yesterday when my friend suggested that I sell my bulky camera on e-Bay and get something more compact so that I could actually use it in most situations, I kinda balked.

"Come on," she said, "let's just put a notice up on Craigslist and we'll see how much you can get for it."

"Um, let me think about it for a few days."

Very un-Rees-like.

Or is it? I've been complaining about my cumbersome camera for months, why not just do something about it? Then I started thinking about other little things, like the old workout socks that were full of holes that I finally replaced two weeks ago - after about four years. The stupid paper yellow cat lamp that I know is silly-looking, but that I've had since college and can't bring myself to throw away, no matter how much of an eyesore it is to my living room. But why would I get rid of it? It's a perfectly good lamp.

Could it be that I'm so intrinsically cheap that it takes me four years to convince myself to spend $10 on new socks and sources of light? Or is it that these old items provide some sense of grounding and security in a life that enjoys turning on a dime? It's like they're relics of who I am now, who I was then, and that journey of becoming. Maybe my hesitancy to get rid of my camera is because it was a Christmas gift, and therefore something to treasure, no matter how inconvenient.

Or maybe I'm just too lazy to deal with selling it and buying a new one. (Did I also mention that in addition to not being afraid of change, I'm also not afraid of overanalyzation?)