I’ve had a storage unit for many years, sometimes shared, sometimes not… This summer I promised myself I would empty the current unit and let go of many of the things I’ve accumulated. Some of these items are easy: candles I don’t like the smell of, linens that are mildewy, books that I never actually read or wanted…
But at this point most of the items are sentimental. Items I’ve inherited. Stuffed animals. Journals that remind me that the bad times really happened, and letters that remind me that there were also plenty of good times. The books that I DO love. And various rocks and trinkets that are heavy both in weight and emotions.
The last week has been spent lugging boxes and bins and a large table from one town to another, and unpacking here at the apartment. I also went through all my clothes, and passed along a contractors bag full to my best friend :-) . My current living situation screams HOARDER, but I know it’s temporary. Books are heading to a library sale tomorrow. Picture frames are being emptied and cleaned and assessed for keeping or not. DVD movies have been sold.
The part that really has tripped me up are my journals (which I honestly thought I had burned years ago) and reminiscing over photo albums and letters. There is something both validating and disturbing when reading your own writing about troublesome days in your past. It’s satisfying to know that your memories are correct, but it’s sad to reflect on the choices you made (well, some, at least in my case). I’ve packed them away for now, but am trying to convince myself to be rid of them by the end of summer.
I’ve been doing a lot of work on myself over the last year, this is all part of it. At some point I hope to be looking ahead without feeling bogged down with all the hopes I had years and years ago, and just celebrate where I am and where I am headed. Sounds good, right?