The other day I finished reading that super-trendy “tidying” book. (The book is insufferable, but I like the overall concept.) I came across this passage, and will try to bear it in mind when I start making the big “stuff” decisions:
“If you are keeping [things] because you can’t forget a former boyfriend, it’s better to discard or donate them. Hanging on to them makes it more likely you will miss opportunities for new relationships. It is not our memories, but the person we have become because of those past experiences, that we should treasure. The space in which we live should be for the person we are becoming now, not for the person we were in the past.”
— Marie Kondo, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up
I’m still not talking to my socks, though. Sorry, lady. (Not a joke — she wants me to thank my socks for their service. Out loud. I’ll pass.)
I’ve spent the past few months paring down my possessions, making sure I know, love, or use everything I have. (“All the right junk in all the right places.”)
I don’t care about a lot of THINGS anymore. I’m not sure if that’s age, or moving so frequently, or seeing people drift into and out of my life. Maybe all those aspects just came together, but it’s been a lot easier to stop holding on to stuff. (Plus, some stuff just has bad juju on it.)
When it comes to ex-stuff, I understand it’s time (likely long past) to at least START dealing with it. I’m not talking about those random interlopers I tried dating; that stuff is long gone. But the Big Ex is another story. There’s a box of stuff I’m not ready to go through yet, and I probably won’t even try until I’m done with everything else.
But obviously when you spend that much time with someone, it can’t all be contained in one box and buried in the back of a closet, so I keep finding remnants of the relationship among other things. It’s sort of insignificant stuff like CDs, t-shirts from vacations “we” took. And I know I CAN let these things go. I’ll never use them, so they’re getting thrown out or donated. Someone else can enjoy them, or throwing things out is healthier than being reminded of him every time I pick up a “Boston”-emblazoned pen he brought me from a work trip.
But goddamn, it’s still daunting. Happily, there is wine, and clearly that needs to be decluttered as well. So cheers, y’all.