Letting Go of Sentimental Items

 

As I pack up my belongings, it’s hard to believe that almost 30 years have passed since I last lived inside the Dallas city limits. And while I’m looking forward to living in Big D again, I don’t like sorting through all the stuff I’ve accumulated over the years.

A decade ago I downsized from a 2,800-square-foot house to a condo a fourth that size. Needless to say, I had no choice but to get rid of furniture and other household items.

Six years ago when I made yet another move to Florida, I bought a new stainless-steel microwave for the place I rented. I hauled that appliance back to Texas even though I was moving into an apartment that already had one. I forgot about the microwave until today. I found it at the bottom of a stack of boxes in a storage closet.

Then there is the clear vinyl bag containing tons of birthday cards, Christmas cards, and report cards dating back to my elementary school years. And the box containing my baby book with all of my ‘firsts’ recorded in my mother’s handwriting. And the high school yearbooks I saved, hoping to share my coming-of-age years with my own children. However, I never had the opportunity to do so after the family life we knew changed. It’s odd that I still hold on to all these mementos that I haven’t held my hands for decades.

Why do I hang on to all this stuff?

With the microwave, I’m sure I thought I’d use it again one day. Besides, I paid a pretty penny for it. Although it’s sleek in an industrial-chrome kind of way, it’s also quite bulky. I should have just given it away before leaving Florida. At least someone could have been using it instead of it sitting in a dark storage closet for the last four years.

As for the bag of mementos—now those things are hard to part with. Just call me a sentimental type of girl. I guess I’m hoping one of my future grandchildren or their children might one day be interested in details about me that they might not otherwise know.

If I’m really honest, that’s one of the reason why I journal—for my future generations. I have many black composition notebooks. You know, the kind with white speckles? Those journals are filled with my life experiences, and with my innermost thoughts and feelings. Maybe I’m subconsciously hoping a granddaughter or great-granddaughter will inherit my passion for writing and base a book on me. Historical novels can be so inspirational. My fictional life penned by another could be the catalyst for someone else to do something worthwhile in their lifetime.

At least I know when my life on this earth ends my journals will remain for the next generation.

Well, enough with daydreaming. I need to get back to packing.

Now, what to do with the oversized platter that hasn’t seen the backside of a turkey since Thanksgiving 1999!