A few weeks ago, my philosophy on life was reinstated; we are all here together and that is where the beauty lies.

I had a yard sale. The first one I’ve ever had in my life, having grown up on busy main road on Long Island. I have only lived in Portsmouth since August, so this was a big deal, my first foray into real, community involvement; it was also an excuse to get rid of some junk I probably shouldn’t have brought down with me in the first place.

My hyper-responsible, event planner roommate said that the sale would start at 8am, and that she’d be setting up by 6. I mean, I wanted to sell my stuff, but 8am? Does anyone in Port Norfolk wake up that early on the weekends?

Come morning–long past the 6am I promised–I limped outside in my pajama pants to see all of my roommate’s items arranged in the fall sun, already being handled by picky church ladies that had obviously haggled at a side street sale before. I looked back in the house through the doorway to see my stuff still in clumps, seeming all jealous and depressed. I gathered my wide legged jeans and glittering jewels circa 2000 and hustled outside.

The sun approving of our friendly intentions.

The heat of an Indian Summer had finally broken, and was replaced by a cool, light breeze that seemed to dance down Florida Avenue, carrying autumn in with it. Fall is my favorite season; it is the seasonal equivalent of the ex you will always be in love with. It was the perfect day for a yard sale.

A woman crept up with her cane and asked me why I had no shoes on and where my momma was. I told her I just didn’t put shoes on yet and that my mother was in New York. She said she’d be my momma and told me to put shoes on… and I did because I love that Southern charm.

We sat on the porch drinking our coffees, taking pictures of the setup and each other. This was a day to remember; our things were being spread through our community, little seeds of ourselves settling in our neighbor’s closets and on their shelves. I was waking up, selling scarves full of memories for a dollar a piece. I sold the gaudy pink watch my mother bought me, sitting on top of an old dryer in the front yard. That watch broke three times, and I had it repaired three times. Now, gone for a measly two bucks.

Our most dedicated customer, an 11-year-old named Theon, asked if there was any work for him to do. We told him we had taken care of everything already, but he could just hang if he wanted. He meandered around the tables and tried to upsell some of our items while downing Capri Suns. He bought a tornado lamp on his first swing through, only to tell me later that he sold it to his grandma for a higher price when he stopped home. The little swindler told us helping us made him happy because he didn’t have a lot of friends. So tender. Imagine if adults just came out and said things like that? Why are we socialized to hide ourselves from each other?

An artist's first sale=monumental.

A white-haired woman bought a piece of my “art”: an old computer keyboard that I had slain with acrylics, cigarette ash, crumbled leaves, hair bits and Comet. I put it out there as a joke, never expecting anyone to actually buy it. I took a picture with the woman and the keyboard, asking her why in God’s name she wanted it and what she was going to do with it.

She said she’d find a space for it and that she adored it, seeing it as a comment on society. What a moment of glory for me.

Babies crawled up and down our porch steps. Stranger puppies played with our beloved schnauzer. Shy teenage girls rode up on their bikes, bangs blocking their eyes. Husbands made fun of their wives, proclaiming “she’ll buy anything.” We all laughed together.

One o’clock came and we reluctantly disassembled our makeshift shop. After we counted our earnings, beaming in the shadow of our yard sale glow, we reminisced about all the characters we had met. Being with the community was the heart of the yard sale, we realized, and decided to have another go at it soon, once we’d been able to collect a little more life to relieve ourselves of.

When we had our yard sale we traded in things full of worn memories for the memory of this day. Portsmouth, it’s nice to meet you. Now put your coat on before you catch cold, y’hear?

Some advice on having a yard sale:

1. These people are out there lurking in the shadows of dawn to scoop up your used goods. So, get out there early!

2. Coffee. Brew a lot of it. Nothing more comforting and supportive than hot coffee in the late fall morning.

3. Keep the things you do want to get rid of at a LOW price. The point of the yard sale is to get rid of the stuff you’re not using anyway. So, don’t be a sentimental Sally about every little button. Practically give the stuff away. It’s liberating.

4. On the opposite end of the spectrum, don’t try to sell things you really want to keep. You’re only fooling yourself. When that 12 year old bikes away wearing the belt you bought in San Diego, you may be pretty vexed.

5. Be happy. Anyway, you’re alive. I mean, just try it to see how it feels, if nothing else.

Some places to find yard sales:

1.Craig’s list. Do I even have to tell you that?

2.The local paper.

3.This website devoted to finding yard sales.

4.This other website also devoted to finding yard sales.

5.Ask your grandma, she knows what’s cool.