A Constructed Abundance

We have a date set for our return to the office. When we left, we anticipated working from home for a couple of weeks. We treated it as something of a lark. On my way home that final day I stopped by Staples and bought a few supplies to see me through — a big bag of miniature candy bars, a barrel of pretzels, a canister of disinfectant wipes, and a Moleskine journal.

Three weeks in and I had eaten all the snacks. Then word came that we would be out for months. Businesses were closing, and I was running out of necessities. For years I had ordered the fun things online — clothes, jewelry, shoes, books — but now I needed shampoo, vitamins, soap, toothpaste. I relearned how to shop and ordered these everyday items online, too.

But everyday items would be scarce, we were warned, if available at all.

I’m not a hoarder by any means, but when each order arrived, I kept the box it came in and put it in a corner of a room. Over this year-and-a-half I have amassed a “city” of boxes of all sizes, many nested within each other. Collecting and arranging them began as a game and then slid into part of my routine.

Every box represented my relief at a need met. in a time of uncertainty, I had a reassuring and growing visual reminder that I wasn’t having to do without. Not once did any order go unfilled. My box corner became a shrine of gratitude.

But now certainty about getting back to former routines and expectations is beginning to gel and I’m noticing a pile of boxes in the corner. I tell myself that’s all they are. I tell myself that I no longer need a visual record of my accumulation achievements. I remind myself they’re taking up space. I’m thinking about getting rid of some of them, but each time I have reached for a box to discard, I have stopped.

I’m torn. I want to resume my old life in my favorite familiar places. But I’m still comfortable in the cocoon I’ve created at home. Since I’m not quite ready to dismantle it, my boxes will stay for a while longer.