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	<title>Zócalo Public SquareGoodwill &#8211; Zócalo Public Square</title>
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		<title>The Healing Power of Junk</title>
		<link>https://legacy.zocalopublicsquare.org/2012/03/22/the-healing-power-of-junk/chronicles/where-i-go/</link>
		<comments>https://legacy.zocalopublicsquare.org/2012/03/22/the-healing-power-of-junk/chronicles/where-i-go/#respond</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 23 Mar 2012 02:52:36 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>by Catherine Mangan</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Where I Go]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Catherine Mangan]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[clothing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Goodwill]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[shopping]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[thrift store]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[<p>Treasures. Thousands of them. Rows, shelves, hooks, nooks, closets, rooms, and corners full of treasures. I always knew I had an addictive personality. My veins bleed 12 steps and amends, but not for this dependence. I got off easy. I’m obsessed with one man’s junk.</p>
<p>This month marks my eighth year living in Los Angeles. I’ve always been a nomad&#8211;a collector not just of things but cities. I moved from Pennsylvania to Missouri to Michigan, back to Pennsylvania and then to Florida before coming to a city full of angels. You’d think I would have had enough of packing up junk and moving it from place to place. Quite the contrary. It’s the law of gravitas. What comes down must eventually be replaced.</p>
<p>In the Goodwill on Barrington and Santa Monica, just west of the 405 freeway that devours everything in its path, I find peace. Every aisle offers the </p>
<p>The post <a rel="nofollow" href="https://legacy.zocalopublicsquare.org/2012/03/22/the-healing-power-of-junk/chronicles/where-i-go/">The Healing Power of Junk</a> appeared first on <a rel="nofollow" href="https://legacy.zocalopublicsquare.org">Zócalo Public Square</a>.</p>
]]></description>
				<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>Treasures. Thousands of them. Rows, shelves, hooks, nooks, closets, rooms, and corners full of treasures. I always knew I had an addictive personality. My veins bleed 12 steps and amends, but not for this dependence. I got off easy. I’m obsessed with one man’s junk.</p>
<p>This month marks my eighth year living in Los Angeles. I’ve always been a nomad&#8211;a collector not just of things but cities. I moved from Pennsylvania to Missouri to Michigan, back to Pennsylvania and then to Florida before coming to a city full of angels. You’d think I would have had enough of packing up junk and moving it from place to place. Quite the contrary. It’s the law of gravitas. What comes down must eventually be replaced.</p>
<p>In the Goodwill on Barrington and Santa Monica, just west of the 405 freeway that devours everything in its path, I find peace. Every aisle offers the solace of something I need replaced, or something my parents never allowed me to have but is now 95 percent off&#8211;and therefore screams, &#8220;Finders, Keepers!&#8221;</p>
<p>Sometimes I stray, and I flirt with other stores. But I’m pretty committed to this particular donation crowd. There’s just something about them.</p>
<p>I’ve trained my eye to catch subtly posh fabrics hanging amidst the racks of discarded GAP fashions and once-trendy H&amp;M pieces. And I relish the chance to mock the donors of my designer finds. I wonder if they ever have regrets. Then I toss the clothing in my bag with a Mona Lisa grin. Their loss. As Marla Singer said of her bridesmaid thrift store find in <em>Fight Club</em>, &#8220;Someone loved it intensely for one day, then tossed it … like a Christmas tree. So special, than bam&#8211;it’s on the side of the road, tinsel still clinging to it.&#8221;</p>
<p>Sometimes it takes nothing more than the flash of a rogue rhinestone for me to dart from one color-coordinated aisle to the next. For my inner child (who lives on the outside most of the time, who am I kidding?), the experience is just shy of a tour of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. A world of pure imagination.</p>
<p>The other day, I sat and stared at a slick pair of sparkly shades for a solid seven minutes trying to figure out where and how in my life they would be useful. <em>Will everyone stare? Do they make too big of a statement? Do I like them ironically?</em></p>
<p>&#8220;You don’t have to worry about that here,&#8221; I told myself. &#8220;This is such stuff as dreams are made of.&#8221; It costs only $1.99 for me to walk out of the Goodwill feeling like a million bucks. I wonder what they’ll have in store for me next week.</p>
<p><em><strong>Catherine Mangan</strong> currently heads up the internship program and social media efforts at Dun &amp; Bradstreet Credibility Corp. in Malibu. </em></p>
<p><em>*Photo courtesy of Catherine Mangan.</em></p>
<p>The post <a rel="nofollow" href="https://legacy.zocalopublicsquare.org/2012/03/22/the-healing-power-of-junk/chronicles/where-i-go/">The Healing Power of Junk</a> appeared first on <a rel="nofollow" href="https://legacy.zocalopublicsquare.org">Zócalo Public Square</a>.</p>
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