I spent all of May in Idaho. At a storage unit. A big, crammed full, stuffy, wet, dirty, sneeze producing, 2 + car garage size room filled with shit. Not literally shit, but shit.
A lifetime of shit and memories. Memories from a broken marriage and a failed business. Memories of dead grandmas, grandpas and sons. Dead to me sisters and moms. Collections of useless decorative tins, vinyl records, baby clothes and antiques.
From this:
Believe me it was floor to ceiling. Back to front.
To this:
5ft X 6ft, with a little room to spare. I know I can get rid of more. More antiques. More keepsakes. More stuff. I also know, even without the stuff, I can hang on to the memories.
The question is why. Why do we accumulate? Why do we keep? Why do we forget? Why do we try so hard not to forget? Why do we think we need stuff to help us remember? Why do we hold on? Why do we have to let go? Why do we fear letting go? Why is it so important to believe all that stuff was important?
Then I sat for 3 days watching all 3 seasons of Hoarders on Netflix.
I am not sure why. To affirm that I did the right thing? To affirm that what I had saved for decades was rational? To affirm the hundreds of dollars it cost me was not wasted?
I live in a 24 foot RV for gods sake. I am 56 years old. I could die. Do I want to burden those I leave with stuff? Do I want to throw more money after bad?
I do not have any answers to these questions. But I do know it feels good. It feels really good. It was worth a month of my life.
And I came home $1000 richer!
And I came home $1000 richer!
