I got unexpected free days the past weeks and I thought to spend some of the time cleaning and organizing my things kept in storage. I’ve put off the task for as long as I can remember. I thought, who’s going to do the job? Would I let anyone considering there are certain information in there somewhere, details nobody would willingly offer their parents even on one-on-one talks or their children as stories for bedtime.
Mother did organize my things once when I was away. I knew she came upon those stuff though the extent of her discovery is best left to my imagination. In any case she has not spoken to me about them although I’ve heard hints now and then which I ignore as all those now are effectively behind me.
The task turned out to be rather enjoyable. Like I was on a treasure hunt. There on the floor is my life, at least a significant part of. Time has reduced experiences to these. Incredible but bizarre. I spent considerable time poring over old letters and photographs, received and unsent, many I forgot I still had.
I realized that one, I’ve lost communication with many friends from that time (some are approaching 60 now!). How that happened I don’t remember. Two, there were then relatively more photos in which I was included. These days, I loathe having my picture taken. Lastly, and this relates to the first, I gradually stopped communicating. Why is that I think I know but which I haven’t consciously explored yet. Maybe when I’m ready. Maybe at 60.
For now, there really is value in decluttering and organizing personal stuff. Important things are made prominent and visible. You now know where things are at. And the product of this clarity is lightness.