Nostalgia

Today I headed home to move out the rest of my stuff from my mom's house. I haven't lived there in over a year and the three before then were just school breaks. That home wasn't my home after leaving for college. Nor was school but it was a home I created, albeit left behind each fall. Sometimes, I think I get a sense of how military families must feel. Moving each year is difficult. You settle into a place you think will be the best one and for half a year it is the place you rest, laugh, cry, suffer, and mature. Then you pick up to find another place to call home for another half year.

I cleared out the room I called home for 18 years over the span of a couple days. When I had finished I stood back for a moment and looked at what I had gathered. 18 years of life were summed up in 7 bags of trash (that my mom will inevitably go through to ensure I didn't throw away some valuable trinket) and 10 bags of garage-sale/donation. The ironic part was that 18 years of my life were now gathered in two cardboard boxes, a knit bag, and two plastic bags.

When I walked up to the attic to store the items I had to pause and chuckle at the silliness of the whole fiasco. In an attic crowded to the rim with bags and boxes and items, there were two boxes of 18 years' collecting. My mom scoffed that I was only keeping enough stuff for two boxes. When I compare everything I kept to what she has, I can understand her disbelief.

I may not have kept much but what I did keep was important to me. Little books about grammar and writing, stuffed animals I loved, toys I loved when I was just a child. Those were important. Not old picture frames, awards and papers printed on dull pieces of paper, or ribbons tied around old gifts. What I kept was something so important that I needed to keep it just so I could look back and smile at who I used to be.

The other stuff I tossed out isn't something I'll miss so much that I'll regret it. I won't miss those high school awards, the picture frames that held the images from my past, the notes I passed around in class, or the trinkets I collected from toy dispensers. The way I see it, I have all those trinkets hidden away in my memory. I remember sitting in class passing those notes around, working for and accepting those high school awards, and playing with those toys on the floor of my bedroom. I look at pictures and they come to life with the memory of sitting on the corner of my bed and taking a picture of my cat while she smiled at me.

Moving so often has taught me to only keep the most important of objects and to file the rest away into my head. I will always have those memories of my family, friends, schooling, and pets. I won't always have those pictures or papers. So why should I carry around those pieces of the past and let them collect dust when, in time, they too will just turn to dust?

Though I am prepared to move on with my life (both figuratively and literally since everyone in my family is moving and leaving behind old houses) I think I've been struggling to accept it. Today I had to finally accept it and I was okay with it. Yes, I wallowed around my room for a good while and pitied myself. I was upset for a time. But now I see the value in giving up the past and moving forward. When you have enough memories to make up for the lack in belongings, when you can fit 18 years of your life in your car, you have a life more fulfilling than any life with a thousand boxes of pictures and a dozen attics of belongings.