Erasing
Over the past week, I've been trying to systematically erase the minute rememberances of the last few years of my life. Not the memories, but rather the errant paper receipts piled in a drawer, the pens with no caps that clutter my desk, the canape cutters in the kitchen, the drawers full of clothing forgotten for more stylish choices. And I have come to a frightening conclusion... I have way too much stuff for a person my age. And even though there will be a team of movers doing all the packing and relocation for me, I will not be taking all this stuff with me. But it's hard to let go. It always has been for me.
But I'm learning. Letting go of the victorian ivory lamp my great-grandfather bought me when I was 10 with it's fringed brocade shade and etched roses. Letting go of the desk I got for Easter when I was eight, my initials carved into the front drawer with a protractor. Letting go of the pale pink silk negligee embroidered with spring flowers I bought back in college, still wrapped in scented tissue paper from the store - never worn. Letting go of the straw cowboy hat that my curls used to cascade under. Saying goodbye to the last vestiges of my first apartment, the beginning of my (temporary) independence and relics from every place I've called home since then. Releasing the cookbook with the pages stained with summer strawberries, the red heels that tied at the ankle bought one day when I just felt beautiful and alive. Letting go of small rocks picked up in Sedona, Ouray, and Seattle tucked into jacket pockets, of birthday and graduation cards yellowed with age... of ticket stubs, christmas ornaments and old journals - their pages full of declarations of undying devotion and scrawled poems on airplane napkins. Eliminating a decade's worth of film negatives of landscapes and faces etched into my mind.
This is hard. Even though I recognize the necessity of the endeavor, I feel like a part of me is being discarded with each trash bag. I feel like I'm losing something more than the physical item. I have to keep myself from digging through the garbage to retrieve a paperbook with a split spine that I remember reading with the sun spilling through the windows and laughter reverberating off the walls.
I was in the shower this morning when I heard the garbage truck amble down the alley. The water streaming over my face I leaned my head against the wall. This shouldn't be so hard.
It's just stuff after all.
But I'm learning. Letting go of the victorian ivory lamp my great-grandfather bought me when I was 10 with it's fringed brocade shade and etched roses. Letting go of the desk I got for Easter when I was eight, my initials carved into the front drawer with a protractor. Letting go of the pale pink silk negligee embroidered with spring flowers I bought back in college, still wrapped in scented tissue paper from the store - never worn. Letting go of the straw cowboy hat that my curls used to cascade under. Saying goodbye to the last vestiges of my first apartment, the beginning of my (temporary) independence and relics from every place I've called home since then. Releasing the cookbook with the pages stained with summer strawberries, the red heels that tied at the ankle bought one day when I just felt beautiful and alive. Letting go of small rocks picked up in Sedona, Ouray, and Seattle tucked into jacket pockets, of birthday and graduation cards yellowed with age... of ticket stubs, christmas ornaments and old journals - their pages full of declarations of undying devotion and scrawled poems on airplane napkins. Eliminating a decade's worth of film negatives of landscapes and faces etched into my mind.
This is hard. Even though I recognize the necessity of the endeavor, I feel like a part of me is being discarded with each trash bag. I feel like I'm losing something more than the physical item. I have to keep myself from digging through the garbage to retrieve a paperbook with a split spine that I remember reading with the sun spilling through the windows and laughter reverberating off the walls.
I was in the shower this morning when I heard the garbage truck amble down the alley. The water streaming over my face I leaned my head against the wall. This shouldn't be so hard.
It's just stuff after all.
posted by April at 11:29 AM
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