Having finished the latest draft of the book I'm working on, I've been filling up my time at home trying to "make space". The sheer arrogance of setting ourselves on par with deity is certainly not lost on me in that expression, and I squander precious moments contemplating, rather than getting to work.
I've found, down the years, that the "have you used it in the past year" trick can be a good rule of thumb, yet so far, it seems to be entirely outdone by the situation. I'm this close to Marie Kondo-ing it, but I'm afraid I'll realize nothing truly brings me joy (apart from the sea), and jettison this life I've somehow managed to cobble together. And that would certainly be no bueno.
I'm bound by the value I once saw in things. I'll keep a sweater I got as a gift ten years ago on account of the love, and how that made me feel at the time. I have a hard time, telling apart the love from the receptacle. Find it difficult, untangling myself from things.
Though the progress has been respectable, I find myself defeated by the mountains of things. When I got this bed, I thought the storage space underneath was a God-send, but it's somehow proven a devil in disguise. My rectangle of chaos. It doesn't help that I'm afraid to go digging under there in case the springs fail, and the bedframe crushes me. I dreamt the bed came crashing down, actually, among other things. I wonder what that means.
I get inexplicably attached to things. An old mug. A coat that once kept me warm. A set of ceramic cups I've never used, but I promised to save them when we were dismantling my grandmother's old house, so how can I now betray them, in return?
How do I go back on a promise, if you had your heart riding on me?
I find it a tremendously difficult question at the moment.
I am animistic to the point of unhealthy obsession, and imagine thoughts, wants and personalities in all things which surround me. How can I let you go, if you were once a soul, and I promised you something? Interestingly, I find letting go of people much, much easier.
What can you do?
Comes easily to me. About people, but not objects. Maybe this is just the rule I've imposed on myself for living. Leaving. The things that surround me, though, reprimand and hold me accountable in a way humans never have (and perhaps never will).
Throwing things away.
Letting go. Starting a-new.
All of this mountain of living, so alien and normal to me at the same time.
I'm well aware how much of myself I'm projecting into the objects that surround me, yet am not entirely convinced it's a bad thing. If we must find ways in which to survive, there are worse than these. Maybe, on the contrary, all that's been needs physical quantifiers, objects to be tied down in, otherwise it would continue swimming needlessly inside me, and how long till that sinks me to the bottom?
It's not an excuse. I know that. And despite all I say, I've managed to throw out admirable amounts of things. Sacks of clothes. Old boots that no longer walk. Two chairs. Thirty tiles. Torn bags. A thick coat.
All this stuff that, at one point or another, marked my life so acutely, but which turned out in the end, to be just ordinary things.
At the end of the day, I remind myself I'm making room for new life. For love in my house. That I can be a real person who lets go of old cups and torn jeans without losing my integrity, and all those other little things I still perceive as essential to me.
Are you, like me, someone who struggles with letting go of things?
And because it's Tuesday, it's as good a chance as any to say hi to @ablaze, isn't it?
God, what a mix.
This entire performance.
And beautiful Chelsea.
Enjoy.
Over the years I have decluttered so much when we were moving between countries that I feel I have "done my bit" already. A few years ago, when we moved back to UK, we could fit our whole life in 20 storage boxes and 2 suitcases.
It gets to a stage, you think how much more can you declutter from your life. How much sentiment can we throw away? Your grandmother's cups, my mum's teaset, things we want to see and feel to take us back to those precious moments with those that are no longer with us.
Even if you could let go, the biggest problem I find is ... where? Sure, most I can donate to charity shops. But things like vinyls that once belonged to my dad, they have no value to anyone in UK and they don't deserve to be smashed and thrown in the bin
That's also something I think about, and seem to be coming up short when it comes to suitable places. I'd like, for all the value I (perhaps alone) ascribe to these things, to know they're appreciated where they go. And I know people say (and are right) that the love you have for your Dad, for instance, which is in a way embodied in the vinyls, is still there regardless, but there's also an element of missing stuff. For instance, you find something and are brought back to a whole moment and feeling, you know? And perhaps you wouldn't carry that with you in the long run necessarily. Perhaps an old mug, vinyl or scarf isn't really worth remembering on its own, but does that mean the memory is worth letting go of entirely?
I definitely attach feeling and meaning to certain things but I'm getting better. Over the past five or so years I've managed to let go of most of the things I'd been carrying around with me since I was a young adult. Each time I move into a new house I seem to shed more and it always feels so damn good to declutter once you've made your mind up to do it.
Not denying the good feeling. Feels like a proper accomplishment, doesn't it? Was it just the recent move, or did something else prompt these last 5 years of decluttering, do you think?
It kind of all began when we moved out of our first house in 2015 but has accelerated with each move and — I guess — with age. I used to save my birthday cards and everything. Just recently I threw out all of the newspaper clippings of my first published articles I had been saving since the early 1990s. It truly feels like hanging onto this old stuff blocks you from growing and letting new things into your life.
OMG, yes, this is me! Discarding things with attached memories is like discarding the memories, themselves — because, sometimes we do forget when there's nothing tangible to remind us! I still have the first doll ever given to me as a child, an old coin my grandmother gave me, a cheap little bell that belonged to my favorite aunt, all with no real value other than sentimental value. But they comfort me. 💞
Exactly! And would you even remember some of this stuff if you didn't have them anymore? I suspect I would not, to be honest, because maybe some of them aren't something so emblematic as to warrant remembering (which isn't saying necessarily they're not valuable).
Someone once advised me to take pictures of the things I love and then throw them away. That way, I can just look at the photos of those things. And photos on my computer’s hard drive don’t take up much space.
I think it's good advice, but I don't follow it.
It's sound advice for sure, though I don't think I'd follow it either. I think, if anything, it would make me miss the stuff.
A veces me cuesta deshacerme de algunas cosas tan insignificantes para otros, pero tan significativas para mí! Soy una acumuladora de recuerdos y debo aceptarlo. Saludos
Yo tambien :)
I don't anymore. The older you get the more you lose and the more you realise it doesn't matter. Plus many, like me, feel as if you may as well declutter before you die just in case someone else has to clean up your mess.
That was one of the points I was considering while going through the house. Getting through my grandmother's house after she died was nuts because she was a proper hoarder of things, and naturally, it was more stressful and annoying than anything sweet and 'aww' (I mean I loved her tremendously, but there's only so many bags of bags you can go through). I detect the tendency to follow that same path, and must be wary of it.
Yeah totally, a lot of people say that - it takes an awful lot of time and energy to sort people's possessions out when they're gone let alone their finances and legalities. My Mum, bless her, has everything neatly in folders and the house is immaculate.
My life admin is a mess but the house wouldn't be that hard a task.
You're too young to think about it that much, but god forbid you're hit by a bus - one must walk around with the mantra 'you can't take it with you when you're gone'.
I always remember Dad looking at his guitars on the wall and musing in his endone haze whether they'd have guitars where he was going. I told him yes, all tuned, ready to go.
I mean Dads study or the back lounge of the house still has his things. A book on architecture, still on the coffee table, as he was reading it before he died, a brass om, photography books. It's not a mausoleum - it's all meat and organised and part of the houses character, but it still is him.
I don't know, I digress.
In other news, I have sat in the bath the entire afternoon and almost finished this - glutted upon - have you read it?
I have not! But it looks right up my alley. Thank you kindly for the recommend.
I hope they have guitars up wherever :) I remember you telling me (or maybe just writing it in a post and me pilfering it shamelessly) how your Dad used to say there's no pockets in a shroud. I try to keep that with me, but I'm not there yet.<3 Wise words.
I find myself repeating stories ..
Yep I thought it's your jam ....I have saved the last chapter for bedtime....
Enjoy 🤗
I am cool with letting things go, as you know. Besides, there's a pretty cool reason this time.
Oh, and speaking of letting, I definitely:
I suppose that's true, at least. But then again, Nick Cave probably has a big old house with plenty of space to keep things in. So hmm, I don't know what to say.
Finally, some misery and some struggle. Anything but complaints