“Sometimes losing everything is the only way to gain everything that really matters.”

If one day I woke up and everything I owned was gone, I think most people would expect me to wail like a banshee. But me? I’d probably laugh — maybe even celebrate.
You see, I’m a retired antique dealer. For decades my world was buying, flipping, and finding treasures for other people. I never really saw myself as a collector, just a caretaker who passed things along. Americans, including me, have way, way too much stuff anyway. And in my case, losing everything wouldn’t even really mean losing it. I’ve got thousands of photos, old eBay sales records, and a lifetime of memories stored in my head. Half the items I once owned are already sitting in my friends’ and family’s homes, living out their second lives without me.
Besides, I’ve never put much importance in possessions. Like they say, “You can’t take it with you.” If anything, it’s better that it’s all gone while I’m alive so my family doesn’t have to deal with it later — and truth be told, they don’t want the “junk” anyway!
I can almost picture it now: my empty house echoing with freedom, me dancing barefoot in the middle of the floor with a coffee mug raised high, shouting, “I’m free from dusting antique decanters!” I’d probably even wander down to the flea market with nothing but a grin, because in the end, my real treasures are my stories, my memories, and the adventures I had chasing all that stuff in the first place.
Losing my possessions? That wouldn’t be a tragedy. It’d be a clean slate with a punchline. And for a former antique dealer, that’s just about the best deal going.
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