Is willing to accept that she creates her own reality except for some of the parts where she can’t help but wonder what the hell she was thinking. – Brian Andreas and the StoryPeople
I spent the past two days cleaning out a storage room I’ve done nothing but add things to for the past 23 years. What a mess! I knew I had hoarding tendencies and an over emotional attachment to the past, but this was ridiculous.
I seem to have saved every toy my kids ever played with, nearly every drawing either of them did, plus most of the stories or writing they penned. I also saved every greeting card I’ve ever received, a collection of old costumes for all ages (now ruined by squirrels and mice), a few magazines, and a box of beach things – kites, squirt guns, pool floaties, water noodles and such - that, judging from the condition they’re in, are from about the mid-90’s. We’ve been to the beach since then, but didn’t use any of this stuff. Apparently, I just put it all away and forgot about it.
Holiday decorations? Oh, yes, I saved plenty of those. Most were only used a few times, then packed away and forgotten, left to disintegrate slowly, with gnawed off pieces adding a festive touch to mouse and squirrel nests along the way.
Old school notebooks, my kids’ high school classwork, most of their report cards – beginning with pre-school – were also all dumped into plastic bins and stashed away. I even found a small metal trunk full of my high school things - notebooks, school work, report cards, diaries and other long forgotten and no longer remotely relevant objects.
Since I come from a family of hoarders and people with an over emotional attachment to the past, some of this is not a surprise. I did sigh a long sigh of dismay, however, when I found several boxes of things my family saved from long, long ago and handed off to me. I’ve never even opened these boxes and I’ve been toting them around with me for the past 30 years. Why? Because a scrap book containing every “Congratuations!” card my parents received at their wedding or a box of “It’s a Girl!” well wishes sent when I was born are of interest to anyone anymore? My parents are long divorced and I am 56 years old…Good Lord!
How does this happen? How do we let the past take such a hold of us or at least our storage space? Don’t our memories fill that purpose? And if memory fails, there are photos, photo albums and digital frames to refresh our versions of the past. Why hold on to a birthday card from 1985 or a child’s afterschool note saying he’s playing at a neighbor’s? There is simply no reason in this…
I’ve always been sentimental, but I became an excessive saver when my mom died. I was 19, she was 37, it was a sudden unexpected death and it sent me into a tail spin, thinking that I, too, was cursed to die a premature death. Because of that everything became more precious to me, not only because life was so fleeting, but because I wanted to leave a record for my loved ones to sift through – a tangible way for them to remember me when I was gone. With that as my mind set, even the most mundane of objects was elevated to the status of future relic. In one of my boxes I found an old blue Noxema jar with 3 rings from a gum ball machine tucked safely inside…Seriously? Rings from a gum ball machine?
Once I hit the age of 38 and saw that my life was not over, my reason for hoarding turned into simply being too busy to sort through things and keep up. And, I was busy - very busy with kids, work, family, pets, projects and what seemed like one million things to get done each day. This went on for years…
I recently read that we hang on to pride, anger, outdated opinions and fears in the same way we hoard old birthday cards, souvenirs, paperwork, clothes, broken toys, etc. Over the years, this becomes a habit and we don’t give it much thought as the boxes and bins (literal and emotional) stack up and get piled away, un-inventoried or attended to.
Going through all of those long lost and forgotten boxes was dirty, unpleasant and sometimes sad; it was also poignant and cathartic. It felt good to pile those 12 black trash bags by the curb alongside seven bashed up suitcases and four boxes of things too heavy to put in trash bags. It was freeing to drop off three loads at Goodwill. And, it feels just fine to replace what is being kept, in a much more organized manner, back in that storage room.
The question is can I do the same thing with some of my pride, anger, fear and a few of those outdated opinions?
William Morris said, “Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful." Shouldn’t we strive for that in our hearts and minds, as well?
The next time I’m tempted to stash something away, whether it be tangible or emotional, I’m going to ask myself what purpose will this serve? Does my need to box or bin this away come from love or fear or simply laziness?
My life is more secure and less busy than it once was, so I’m finding it easier to not collect. And, I’m realizing that I hold my dearest memories close in my heart and they remain true over time. No need to collect them in plastic bins and boxes… no need at all.
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