The first thing to plan, then, was shelving, the honeycomb infrastructure of my storage system. After several trips to the Ikea out near Tempelhof Airport, I decided the most elegant and flexible storage unit was a modular, stackable pine LP crate called Trissa.
I’d buy dozens of flat-packed Trissas, possibly a hundred, assemble and stack them to the ceiling, then fill them with my stuff.
But a funny thing has happened; I’ve stopped halfway. Today, my apartment has a Zenlike emptiness. I’ve built my Trissa units — there they stand around the walls, empty, smelling sweetly of fresh pine, defining the air into a grid of grippable cubic shapes.
I’ve completely lost the urge to cherry-pick any content for them. Why spoil something so beautiful? Why clutter these cubes with trophies of stuff I once read, and might one day in the future want to consult? After all, my apartment already has all the content I could ever need in the form of an open Wi-Fi signal, flooding each room with — well, with the entire world, or a convincing representation of it.
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