Why is parting with possessions so difficult? Perhaps I should ask, "Why is parting with possessions so difficult for some people?"
I am not a hoarder - not even close. My mother was not a hoarder but she did keep lots of 'stuff'. My 'growing-up' home had a cluttered appearance in some of the rooms, but that was mostly on counter tops or other surface areas. All the 'stuff' mom kept was kept in drawers or stored away in boxes in the attic or closets. The house was clean except for all of the 'old' food that was never thrown out in the refrigerator. We could never eat 'new' food until the 'old' food had been consumed.
Because my mom kept 'stuff', it has always been my mission to keep as little as I can possibly be inspired to keep. I am constantly reminded of the past by the 'clutter ghost' that lives on my shoulder and whispers sweet nothings in my ear. Sweet nothings that encourage me to rid, rid, rid the closets of unused, unwanted, and unnecessary belongings. So do I have clutter skeletons in my life? Absolutely and some of them make no sense to me.
My 'keeping' challenges have evolved over the years, probably as my space limitations have changed. I've always had to battle the box demon and have been more successful, as the years go by, overcoming the box demon even without a twelve-step program. It is hard to put a perfectly good, solid box into the recycling bin, but I can bring myself to part with those charming cardboard containers more and more.
Another 'keeping' challenge is old, comfortable and soft articles of clothing. My skin has never liked scratchy fabrics and, as I get older, that trait seems to be more exaggerated than in my youth. My recent triumph over the 'soft and comfortable' demon came just yesterday as I forced myself to finally part with an old pair of sweat pants. These ratty-looking green sweats have been my workout sweats for more years than I'd care to acknowledge or even think about. Over the past six or so months, numerous holes developed to the point that they needed to be discarded but I could not bring myself to part with my green faves.
The parting procedure began about six weeks ago when I purchased a replacement pair of sweats. I couldn't find green so I had to settle with black. The black sweats were comfortable from the outset and it should have been a simple act of throwing out the old, but I just couldn't bring myself to drop my old faithfuls into the garbage. Two days ago I had a stern talking to with myself and said, "Self, this is ridiculous." The path I took to release them was equally ludicrous. I needed to know they would go on to a better life so I asked my SO if he needed any rags to take to the barn. Affirmative. So there was the second life for my ragged, green sweats. I washed them up but then came the last, challenging step.......cutting the fabric. Holding the shears, and actually squeezing them together, through the faded, green material was difficult. When I was done, the waistband, ankle bands, and seams were clipped off and lay in a pile. Dropping the pile of discarded material into the wastepaper basket was the final step.
Is this not silly?
I am happy to report that I have moved on. This morning I donned my black sweats and the world continued to turn on its axis.
Ancora imparo
