There are moments when I wonder why I am taking so much care to divest myself of my belongings. I wrote a rational post about this about six months ago (Holding on, Letting Go) with many wise observations, but I feel the need to vent my frustration. So, while this post will offer hypotheses, it will be void of suggestions.
Time is a precious commodity after all, so why spend it this way when I could be getting some fresh air, creating something, talking with a friend, going to a museum, or planning my next trip, especially now that the forced shutdown on the pandemic is behind us? Why not just donate what can be donated and throw away all the rest, especially the papers? I think of my two long-time friends who save little from their past. Having suffered loss in their lives, including a house fire many years ago, they choose to live in the present as much as possible. Why am I not content with all that the present has to offer?
Sometimes, I feel like I am spinning my wheels. I’ll spend hours going through a stack of family memorabilia, reading letters and little diary chunks, chuckling over saved cartoons or to-do lists, marveling over a drawing I or a friend made as a child.
I’ve forced myself to be more systematic—to take an action after reviewing scraps of paper, whether a summary of the contents of a batch of letters, a scan, or a photograph, and also to complete reviewing a related group of papers before flitting to another task, like a butterfly in search of sweeter nectar. Sometimes I am successful in that endeavor, and sometimes I am not.
Why do I feel the need to document everything in my own life—the records, the books, the classes taken and given, the trips, the cultural events, people I’ve known, every work contract I had when I was self-employed? (See my earlier post on The Joys of Listmaking.) Thankfully, I’ve mostly completed that task, updating only as needed.
But even after scanning, photographing, or making lists of these items and experiences, I feel stuck, unable to throw away the actual objects (e.g., the letters, the drawings, the event programs)—that remnant of a beloved person or of myself at a younger age. Don’t get me wrong---I’ve done my share of shredding, tossing, and recycling, and the file drawers in the basement are not as stuffed as they once were. But I keep too much, sometimes with the thought that I’ll make one of my memory collages from the bits.
With actual things (as opposed to paper), I have a mixed record. I have no attachment to some items and will happily give these away to Goodwill or a similar type of organization. But, for those specialized items with a history (our camping equipment, my sister’s 1960s sewing machine, my mother’s screen-printing equipment, my father’s typewriter, a doll’s chest of drawers and closet made by my grandfather—none of which I want or use anymore), I am determined to find good homes. All of this takes a particular type of energy, whether posting to a local marketplace site (and dealing with back-and- forth emails or people who don’t show up) or dropping off to an organization that is interested in these types of items.
Books, of which I have hundreds, present their own challenges. I have a perfect place to donate these to but winnowing down the collection is another matter. How can I part with a book that was a gift if I haven’t read it yet, even as its pages are starting to brown with age? Or a book signed by the author? Or a book that represents a part of my life, even if that part is past, and I am unlikely to look at it again? I’m working my way through the collection, but it’s slow-going. (Look for a new post soon on how I’m tackling the books.)
Most of what I’ve read or heard about downsizing focuses on the practical—the how-to--but spends little time on the emotional struggles we face when making decisions about letting go. It’s not as easy as saying, did I use this or look at this in the last six months? Or even, does it bring me joy?
As a student of psychology, I have a few hypotheses about my brand of challenge. Perhaps some of you can relate.
Sometimes I just have to sit with my discomfort or my frustration, take a break from this part-time job I’ve given myself, and feel some gratitude for all that I have and all that I’ve managed to do already. Then, I may have some new epiphany about how to proceed, and I will pass my learnings on to you, dear reader. Meanwhile, thanks for “listening.” I feel better already, and I feel another post coming on.