I’m about to embark on a fresh start of sorts… A rebirth that begins with a final move, a purging of sorts. As fitness obsessed as I can be, sometimes I wish I could withhold things from myself more then I do. But I have been binging for the past 30 years…. on STUFF. Knick-knacks from foreign countries, letters, class notes, English papers I got A’s on, photos, ticket stubs, plane tickets, birthday cards, all of it. I’ve kept it all, and while rummaging through an entire household trying to clean it out, I’ve realized exactly where I got it from, and that the apples do not fall far from the tree after all.
When you clean out an apartment, or move from one place to another, a sort of cleansing has to happen, and since this is the fork my road has taken, I am left with the task of what to take, what to keep, and what to ultimately let go of. As they say, you can’t take it with you, but what exactly is “it” that they are referring to, and is the square footage of your apartment factored into this phrase… maybe some of it you can take with you.
In trying to stop the cycle of insanity, and not continue to resemble the next candidate of Hoarders, I must spiritual let go. Of the physical.
‘What about this box’, my boyfriend said, as we hurriedly worked from corner to corner. I opened it and looked inside, an act that makes this all the more daunting. Awww old notes from my old longtime boyfriend. I opened the old crinkled piece of paper from my 8th grade math class, and a flash of an image crossed before me of two young things and innocent, first love.
“I can’t wait for this class to be over”
“I know, I don’t even know what he’s saying right now”
“Baby, pay attention, he might call on you”
“I can’t, all I keep thinking about is getting you naked”
“ohh yeah, let’s run home to my house after class”
“I have basketball practice at 4 pm”
“we can make it”
“oh I know….”
Back to the present, I sighed, and said ‘lets keep this in the Keep pile, this is a great memory’. This response was quickly followed by a stern look and a forceful assertion that partially frustrated me, and partially turned me on. “That’s exactly what it is meant to be – a memory- and nothing more- keep it in your heart- not in your hand,” he told me.
Before I could say another word, the note was crumbled and tossed in the throw away pile.
I’ll write you a new note, he said, and with that, after fourteen years of holding onto that piece of paper, I let it go- And haven’t thought about it since.
Purging isn’t easy… if it was, everyone would do it. But it certainly makes you feel lighter- in more ways then one… I already feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders, and that’s only after 1 note. Imagine how I’ll feel when I’m done.