The Past is Certain

I am not often asked, “Where are you from?” these days, but growing up, I was questioned about my hometown. It was always a difficult one to answer–moving a lot as a kid (14 schools through high school graduation and 11 states in total!), I really didn’t have a hometown. Born in Ohio, I attended undergraduate college in Mississippi. I spent my pre-teen years in Maine and Georgia but completed graduate school in Rhode Island. I think you see my point. So, generally, when asked the dreaded question, I would say, “I’m from everywhere,” and people were often intrigued. The follow-up was usually, “Military brat?” and my response was, “No, just a brat.” (insert laughter) Some form of this back-and-forth shaped my life and perspective.

As a result of moving around, I was a “keeper of the things.” I kept almost everything–gum wrappers from my high school choir competition in 9th grade, my denim jean jacket full of pins from 5th grade, letters and notes from friends and family. I kept it all–very organized in my rooms over the years. I wanted a record of my life as it constantly changed–new town, new house, new room, new school, new friends. Those items kept me grounded and reminded me who I was and where I came from. I held on to memories from the friends I had to move away from, and the memorabilia was a visual record of those experiences.

Fast forward years later, and I am married with a son. We have lived in our house for 12 years and I still hold many of those items. In the past two years, I have started to question why. If you’ve read previous blogs of mine, you know I helped my mom clean out my grandparents’ house after my Ma-Ma passed away two years ago. The experience, emotionally, physically, and mentally, impacted me in a major way. I reflected on my past and realized how much I was holding onto and how much it was holding me back. I came home from Ohio, ready to clear out. And I did. I went through the basement like a woman on a mission. I took photos of all of my things that I was tossing, and I said goodbye. And it was great. I felt lighter, and although sometimes I think of an item (like my favorite childhood tap recital costume!) and get nostalgic, I don’t ever wish to hold it again. Time passes, life goes on, and keeping everything from a life well lived can become too much. I acknowledge the comfort I took from the items, the certain memory that came with them, but I am more willing to let go and move on. While I have memories from my childhood, I am working on looking forward and dreaming of the future–something that was difficult for me as a kid when my surroundings were almost constantly changing. 

Did something change your perspective on keeping things? Were you able to toss items you had been holding onto from your past? How did you feel about letting go?