Want more Jeff Edelstein? Head on over to jeffedelstein.substack.com It’s a nightmare of mine. I’m in the middle of my bedtime routine — which mostly consists of forgetting to brush my teeth while silently wondering if eating mozzarella sticks before bed is a good idea — when disaster strike s. No nasal strips. Breathe Right nasal strips, to be clear. Extra large, I’m not ashamed to admit.But yes: This would be a disaster. This is not “oh well, I guess I’ll sleep slightly worse tonight.” This is a full-blown panic. I need my strips. Not a want. A need. At this point, it’s like 10 p.m., and I’m in my car, driving to Shop Rite or CVS or wherever is open, to buy my nasal strips. I need them. (I also have a CPAP machine, in case People Magazine is looking for their “Sexiest Man Alive” coverboy this year.) I’d also be screaming. I cannot function without Breathe Right nasal strips. But this got me thinking: What other things — and I mean first-world, tangible, ownable objects — do I need to survive? This is not a list of important stuff. Not “clean water” or “my children’s laughter” or “absolute quiet while I’m eating breakfast.” I’m talking about the dumb, real, irrational items I’ve somehow built my entire modern existence around. The stuff that, if it vanished, would cause me to spiral. So here we go. My list. What’s on yours? 1. Booze (responsibly, mostly) I don’t need much. A couple drinks at the end of the day. Beer, bourbon, whatever’s within reach. Simple. Pure. Old school. Well, not pure, but you get the idea. It’s my way of making America great again — brown liquids down my gullet. 2. Flip flops If it’s not snowing and I’m not expected at a funeral, I’m wearing flip flops. The cold does not bother my feet. It may be a circulation issue caused by mild alcoholism. I am not researching any further. 3. Pizza Pizza isn’t just food. Pizza is the emotional baseline of my life. It’s celebration. It’s depression. It’s Tuesday. And if I’m ever on death row, just give me a plain slice from any place where the guy behind the counter has strong opinions about the Yankees. I will not name a specific local joint, because I don’t feel like fielding 40 angry Facebook messages that start with “Actually…” 4. Nasal strips As stated above. These are non-negotiable. I should probably just get surgery, but that would require planning and follow-through, so instead I will continue buying boxes of glorified stickers to hold my face open while I sleep. Yay science. 5. My Costco membership To be clear, it’s A) my wife’s Costco membership and B) I hate going there, but C) where else am I getting that rotisserie chicken? Nowhere. I need it. 6. The Bluetooth speaker built into my bathroom fan It’s dumb. It’s tinny. But it’s mine. I use it every single morning. Sometimes for music, sometimes for podcasts, sometimes for just a little background noise so I don’t have to be alone with my thoughts while shampooing. If it breaks, I’m putting in an insurance claim. 7. The strangers I see while doing errands who know just enough about me to ask slightly personal questions You know these people. The guy at the deli who says “Hey, how’s your mom doing?” even though you’re not 100% sure how he knows your mom. The woman at the library who calls you “hon” like you’ve been friends since the Eisenhower administration. These interactions are social fiber. Without them, I unravel. I’m the most extroverted introvert in the observable universe. I need just enough social interaction to survive, but not enough to overwhelm. These people — whose names I do not know — are my family. 8. The box of “just in case” cables under my desk No one knows what’s in the box. I don’t know what’s in the box. HDMI cables from 2003? I mean, maybe. USBs in shapes that haven’t been manufactured since Bush-era tax cuts? Well, you never know. A power brick for a device I no longer own? I’m sure. And yet I cannot throw it out. Because the second I do, some printer from the basement will reappear and demand a firmware update through a FireWire port. That box is my legacy. 9. My phone, which I hate but need more than oxygen I tried quitting. I deleted apps. I turned off notifications. Turns out I like checking the weather in Reykjavik. I like knowing immediately when someone I barely remember from high school posts a blurry picture of lasagna. It’s a disease. But it’s mine. 10. My 25-year-old pair of orange underpants They are torn. The waistband is less elastic and more symbolic. But I wore them once on a flight that landed safely, and now they are my official flying underwear. Superstition is real. And besides, nobody wants to mess with a man who wears emergency aviation underpants. That’s sacred territory. That’s the list. My list of semi-stupid things that keep me tethered to reality. If you’re feeling brave, make your own list. Or don’t. Whatever. I’m not your life coach.But if you ever see me in Costco wearing flip flops, holding a rotisserie chicken, and blasting soft jazz out of my bathroom fan via Bluetooth — say hi. I could probably use the interaction.Just don’t ask to borrow my nasal strip. ...read more read less