In the 2012 close-out feng shui home makeover I collected all the gift cards I’ve been hoarding. I knew I had ’em. They were in a little box next to my stereo and in the drawer where I keep my passport. I’ve got eyelash tinting, records, clothes, food, massages and movies coming to me. The eldest gift is from 2006, which got me thinking. I’ve been hoarding good times, which is akin to waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Hoarding Gift Cards


When I was earning big money, I had a “Sex in the City” sized shopping fetish. In addition to my fantastic taste in luxury items, it was an attempt to buy back my femininity. However, my gig, traipsing around with dudes in vans and directing an all male circus left little room for gussying up, so I hoarded gear.

When I finally left my last job,  I had at least $40,000 of designer merchandise in my closet ready to sell. Prada, McQueen, Versace, Chloe, Comme de Garcons, and the gang were all lovingly bagged or waiting in their boxes, all of it brand new with tags.

Fortunately, my investment has paved the way to my new life as a writer. Unfortunately, the retail value didn’t hold up, much like a new car that “loses value soon as you drive that bitch off the lot, lot, lot”, as Andre’ 3000 once said.

So it occurs to me, in these YOLO times we live in, that I’ve got some living to do. I might’ve tightened up my act and be walking the straight and narrow, but my hoarding of good times is chronic, this ain’t some new ish that came up when I cleaned up.

Back in the day my definition of living involved a whole boatload of risk, potential jail time, drama, and tears. Today, it’s still risky business this ‘living’, but was leaving my career to become a writer at forty ever not a risk?

Hoarding paved the way and payed the rent, but I’m not waiting on the other shoe to drop. YOLO.