There’s a line in the excellent A Gentleman in Moscow (Towles, 2016) that says: “For eventually we come to hold our dearest possessions more closely than we hold our friends” (p. 14). When I read this, it struck me that the author—born in 1964—was too young for such a sentiment; whereas I could easily relate to it.
Some of us have a tendency to personify belongings (“faithful,” “him or her”). Even as we recognize the anthropomorphic fantasy, we feel guilty toward them when we dispose of them. We fear hurting their feelings after they have stood by us. I have held back from tossing some things that were beyond salvage simply because I didn’t want them lying in some garbage heap as if no one had ever loved them. Sometimes I wrap them up for their own privacy (and mine).
Even if we don’t go that far, they’re a part of our history and hence part of who we are. Yes, even a stove.
We may also dislike the discontinuity in our environment. If we don’t like having things change around us, the constancy may give a feeling of security. Getting comfortable with something new is unsettling, even if we like it. I missed my old car for more than a year after I bought a new one.
I currently have some new furniture on order, something I should have done at least ten years ago, and it’s not that I didn’t want something fresh, but—it’s still pretty in a faded, shabby sort of way, and it’s too late to worry about spilling something on it, and my now-grown-up kids used to sit there and watch TV, and I’m used to it.
On the other hand, my dear, I think gas stoves are inherently more lovable. See how it responds to you. See how finely you can tune it. See how pretty the flame is. Out with the old, in with the new! I hope you are very happy together.