Have you seen 27 Dresses starring Katherine Heigl? Including last night, I’ve watched it at least ten times (probably closer to 15 but seriously who is counting)! The scene where she pulls the bridesmaids dresses from the closet makes me laugh. Why? Because I have clothes, shoes, and mementos that date back at least four decades and I sadly hold on to them as if my life depends upon them being safely tucked away in bins residing in the far reaches of my closets and the garage. Like Katherine’s character in the movie, profound emotions imbue each memento. The idea of giving things away or tossing them into the garbage is unthinkable. So, the bins, perched precariously upon one another taunt and comfort me simultaneously because they do not have utility. Or do they?
In the recent past, something about retaining things grounded me yet they also caused me to experience a bit of anxiety when thinking about letting go. However, I feel serious guilt about holding on to so much, because the responsibility of disposing of my trinkets and junk will fall to my children and friends when I am gone and that does not seem right. So why do I keep holding on? And, why is it bothering me so much now?
Last week while visiting Northern California I marveled at how many Public Storage facilities lined California highway 101 between San Francisco and San Jose. Without exaggeration, I saw at least one every three miles along the frontage road. Counting the vast number of buildings caused me to wonder what is so important that we are willing to spend thousands of dollars to keep stuff buried in the dark recesses of often hot and creepy storage units. Is it that the contents of each bin connect us to some memory, experience, or person? Does owning so much validate our worth? What is the driving force behind an industry that enables us to own much more than we can possibly keep in our primary place of abode?
Does our culture encourage us to acquire and retain so much? Are we practicing numbing by acquiring things without regards to their usefulness? Did we humans somehow lose sight of the fact that connecting with one another is enriching, comforting, and critical for our health? So many questions and seemingly few answers.
These questions made me pause to think about what I really have tucked away at home. My recollection is that I have sea shells my friend Kathy sent me from Florida when she moved away for a summer when we were twelve. I also have every letter she wrote to me that summer, including one with sand from the beach. Several of the bins hold nearly every greeting card I have ever received for birthdays, graduation, Mother’s Day, and my weddings (yes plural). I still have my cap and gown from each commencement ceremony since high school. The dry, crushed rose from my wrist corsage for Senior Prom is still in the pages of my senior memory book.
I have LPs (33 1/3) and 45s but no record player. Old cassettes and again no functioning player. Term papers from college (in case I need to prove I completed final assignments as an undergraduate) and a few of my children ‘s homework assignments are tucked into an old mini steamer trunk. I even have a blue book full of signatures, the remnant from pledging a business fraternity in 1985.
Memory boxes full of pictures can be found in closets, on bookshelves, and in the over-sized television console. Pictures that are fading due to age, including some from my Sophomore trip to Disneyland, Newport Beach, and Catalina Island in 1982, and hundreds of pictures of my children and family member taken over the years, printed and never added to photo albums. I have at least six photo albums full of pics too. Camping and fishing gear, old badminton rackets and shuttlecocks round out the things stored in bins in the garage.
Last fall I was finally able to bring myself to toss most of my forty-plus stuffed animals into the garbage bin right before pickup so I could not change my mind and rescue them from the trip to the landfill. The oldest stuffed animal (my first) was Sharky, an unwashed, battered gray and white stuffed shark with blue eyes and jagged white felt teeth. Santa left him under the tree when I was eight-years-old. I slept with him every night until I left home for college in Maryland. He kept secrets and soaked up tears better than any comfy blanket. My stomach was in knots while warm, salty tears flowed down my cheeks as the garbage truck drove away with my tattered stuffed animals. The collection including: Fred the Teddy bear; a gray koala bear; two Smurfs (papa and Smurfette); and Pinky the Poodle were disposed of as well. I can barely breathe thinking about that morning so many memories gone in an instant.
In evaluating what I have kept for years it’s evident that for me reminders of meaningful experiences and important people has been the impetus for holding on. Having the wisdom to acknowledge that things are not important is a gift. Memories of those who are gone and the people who still remain in my life are worthy of cherishing resolutely not things.
Holding on to physical things feels emotionally heavy now. As though holding on impedes my ability to open my arms in full embrace of life and the people placed here for me to love.
For me these feelings and awareness are welcome and timely as I begin my “spring” this fall. Recently, I shared that September is my time of renewal and replenishment. Time for releasing and easing the load is upon me.
At some point I resolve to understand the whys behind holding on to things for so many years, but for now I recognize a need to move forward without the emotional and literal weight of “things” which slow my journey. I want to hold on to people. I need to release things.
My prayer for you and I is that we learn and practice the lesson of releasing things early on in our journey so we can enjoy and embrace the true gifts placed upon our path.
My final question to you today, do you ever wonder if holding on to material things is getting in the way of embracing those you love deeply?
Napa Valley September 2018