So, I’ve moved out. Turned in the keys. Hired housecleaners to blitz the house. Now I’m ready to leave for San Diego tomorrow.

These last weeks have been very educational for me. I have spent considerable time discarding things, purging other things and selling yet others. I sold my record albums and my Matchbox cars. Sold my Tonka trucks. Even sold a bunch of teen magazines focusing on the Monkees from the sixties. Got rid of some other things, too. Made several hundred dollars.

It was weird. Watching the buyer take my Matchbox cars and my record albums was hard. I felt like I was selling my children. These were things I had kept for decades. I had kept them because they were a part of me. They held fond memories. It was like they were a touchstone for me. Reminders of simpler (happier?) time. A time when life wasn’t so rushed, so stressed, so…complicated. I held onto these items for so long because I couldn’t bear to part with them. To do so would have rendered me incapacitated. Or so I thought.

It was funny. Later in the day, as I was doing errands, I realized that I had totally forgotten about the items I had just sold. And it was very telling for me. It showed me that I didn’t need these items. I merely wanted them and I had finally, at the age of fifty-five, grown out of them.I realized they were no longer important. Indeed, I wondered if they ever had truly been important. Had I placed too much importance on them? Had they actually been worth less than the value I placed on them? Should I have kept them all these decades?

I also found myself tossing things that had no sentimental value. They were things I felt I could use in the future–but never did. It frustrated me to think that I had fallen into the mindset of my mom who kept everything. She was a depression-era child and knew what need and want were so she kept everything. I, growing up in relative affluence, never knew what it was like to go without food or shoes. She did. Hence, she kept everything.

I was never that bad, but I saw how I had accumulated far too much. I feel a bit healed from that now. Most of what I tossed can be replaced if the need arises. But that segues into yet another topic. Am I being too wasteful? Will the environmental police come to my home and force solar panels onto my roof? Will they measure the amount in my recycle container versus my landfill container?

Mere musings are fun. But I have to admit that I feel liberated from all these items I eliminated from my life. No more carting them around so I can lovingly place them in a closet or attic. They’re gone. The memories were fond, but I’m moving on. Guess it’s about time, eh?


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