A Long Line for Free Stuff

A few weeks ago, I stood in line for hours at a community giveaway featuring items left behind in university dorms at the end of the academic year.

Yes, I know. I'm in the midst of a purge.

Nonetheless, the line stretched for blocks. The heat was relentless.

People had come from all over. Possibly out of state. The event had been advertised on Facebook.

Some were searching for household essentials. Some were furnishing apartments. Some were shopping for family members. Others, perhaps, were looking for inventory to resell. Retail arbitrage is still a thing.

I found myself wondering not only what people hoped to find, but what had brought them there in the first place.

Me? I liked the hunt. I thought I might find something quirky for the garden. Some discarded school supplies for my daughter. Maybe a treasure or two.

Nothing, it turns out, is ever really free.

Even free things require an investment: time, energy, transportation, information, patience.

Once inside, however, I noticed something curious. Conversations centered almost entirely on getting and grabbing.

People filled carts and oversized bags. Others guarded piles of belongings. New arrivals were met less with welcome than with wary glances and subtle jockeying for position.

Standing amid the grabbing and territoriality, I found myself thinking less of a community giveaway and more of an episode of 1883.

The comparison may seem dramatic, but perhaps not entirely.

Both scenes are animated by a similar question:

pausing to reflect, out of the line and the heat

What do we do when opportunity appears limited, uncertain, or fleeting?

"Did you get anything good?"

"How much did you get?"

"Is there anything left?"

I heard very little discussion about how the items might be used, who they were for, or what needs they might meet.

As I watched carts fill and piles accumulate, I realized I was less interested in what people were taking than in the questions the experience raised for me.

How do we navigate for myself but not myself alone?

How do we honor our own wants and needs while remaining aware of the needs of others?

Sharing is caring—a lesson most of us learn as children. Surprisingly, it can be much harder to practice as adults.

I left grateful that so many useful items had been diverted from the landfill.

I also left wondering whether abundance depends on more than shared resources.

Perhaps it also depends on shared norms, mutual care, and a willingness to remember that even in moments of abundance, we rarely flourish alone.