Why does our old gear just sit there, making us feel guilty?

A village once pooled money for a great drum, to be played at weddings and harvests. Nobody played it. It sat in the courtyard. People dusted it 'just in case.' I walked by, picked up the stick, and hit it once, hard, at noon, for no reason at all. The whole square came running. 'Now it has been played this year,' I said. 'Go home.' Your pod has a version of that drum. Somebody's guitar, somebody's bike, somebody's paints — sitting in a corner, still owned, never used. Nobody wants to be the one who says 'get rid of it.' So it stays, and so does the small guilty feeling every time someone walks past. The gear is not the problem. The undecided question is the problem. Decide together — use it, pass it on, or let it go — and the guilt goes with the decision, not with the object.