Fire...what if?

A while ago, I bought a University of Washington Snuggie (please, hold your judgement). I mostly bought it as a joke, but grew to love few things more than that awkwardly-shaped piece of fleece on a relaxing night in. I remember getting a call from a friend, asking me about my opinion of my Snuggie (he was thinking about buying one) and I promptly told him "I would save it in a fire." Great way to explain something that you can't imagine parting with, right?

I admit: it may not have been a completely honest answer, because when I stumbled upon the website The Burning House today while reading Apartment Therapy (another of my favorite new online finds) I really started to think about the question: what would I actually save in a fire?

The website is all user generated content, where people from all over the world (Brisbane, Missouri, Amsterdam) submit photos of all the worldly possessions they would save in that exact situation. It asks this question:

If your house was burning, what would you take with you? It's a conflict between what's practical, valuable and sentimental. What you would take reflects your interests, background and priorities. Think of it as an interview condensed into one question.

Along with their name, location and profession, following the photographs are detailed lists of the items shown. Some are simple: "phone", "MacBook", "insert mundane necessary item here" (we all have them). But others are just absolutely beautiful: "the wedding dress that I married the man of my dreams in 18 years ago" and a picture of someone's feet with the (paraphrased) caption "as I looked around my home trying to find what I would take, I looked down at my feet, and realized that all I really needed to take was me."

Feeling sentimental, inspired and infatuated by pages and pages of people basically bearing their souls to complete strangers through photos of their most treasured possessions, I began to contemplate the predicament myself. I tried to keep it realistic - some of these people took bits of furniture, and I don't know about you, but if my home was on fire, I think the last thing I would be trying to do would be lugging a hefty piece of wood down three flights of stairs. I tried to think about the things that I own that truly are irreplaceable - and if they are irreplaceable, why they meant so much to me. (I have an advantage of course, because I have pre-knowledge of the flames that are about to consume my dwelling.) I figured if I were to smell smoke, the first thing I would do is throw on an oversized sweater & boots, then grab my Vera Bradley duffle and start shoving.

I started to arrange certain things with the intentions of taking a photo much like those on the blog and posting it here. But once I had everything compiled, it just didn't feel sincere to me. I mean, there are those few things that are absolute no-brainers: my 1980s L.L. Bean flannel that used to belong to my mom, the baby blanket I still sleep with, a couple beautiful pieces I inherited after my grandmother passed away. But I think I came to the realization that those "burning house" compilations seemed so much more complex and wonderful when they were someone else's response to the unthinkable. When it was my stuff laid out in an aesthetically pleasing fashion, it had no mystery or allure. But it might to someone else who only knows me as "Meghan Brittany from Irvine, California."

Nevertheless, it is fascinating to think about. It reminds me that every thing has a story, even if some are much more compelling than others. Our material things are rarely important to us just because they happen to be our favorite color or function well for what they are. They have meaning because someone gave them to you as a gift or because you used your first real paycheck to buy it or you wore it all around Europe for those couple of months you were abroad.

The stories are what make our things special. The intangible is what makes tangible stuff matter in the first place.

♥mb.