Getting ready to leave is more difficult than I thought it would be. I start to realize how many things I own and I wonder why it is so hard to let go. What makes us hold such value to physical possessions? Our upbringing? Our culture? Consumerism? A little of all of that.
I’ve been spending large portions of my day sorting through containers that I packed years ago, papers that have piled up, records that have collected dust, books, , clothes. Getting rid of some, packing some, wondering when will be the next time that I open that bin. Will I even care about this stuff anymore, will the smells bring back memories. Will I wonder why in the hell I thought it’d be a good idea to keep a bunch of old magazines?
I remember being in 5th grade and we were having a garage sale. My mom had me sort through my toys and books that I didn’t want anymore. I had these little plastic care bears with moving legs and arms. They were small, maybe only a couple of inches tall. I sold them for a quarter or less to some lady. My mom seemed bothered and confronted me about getting rid of the toys, I’d had them for so long, why would I just get rid of them? I cried and regretted selling them, not because I wanted to play with the carebears, but because apparently I should have kept them for sentimental value. I should have put them in a box so I could reopen it every couple of years and reminisce.
During the past few years I’ve been really trying to move away from that sort of attachement.
However I can thank the mom for holding on to this gem I drew in 3rd grade.