One of the exhausting parts of moving and trying to downsize mightily is the conundrum of what to do with photos and mementos of various shapes and sizes. So far, all but just a few photos have gone home with my parents and my in-laws (thanks again!), as have many cards, letters, certificates, baby clothes, baby blankets, and all other kinds of paper from our pasts.
But that still leaves us with boxes and boxes of other stuff. Like, for instance, journals. I have a lot of those, surprisingly, given my track record with keeping up with daily writing (ahem, see previous failed blog). So what do I do with that box? Or, even more aggravating, past papers from college and grad school, including my dissertation work (ahem, see failed PhD). While my mother was here, I ended up chucking most of that, deciding that if I haven't looked at it since I left, which in pretty much all cases is the truth, then I am not going to look at it ever again. I kept some papers just to prove I was once as naive and earnest as they make me seem and a few chapter drafts just to prove I once had thoughts that were unique to me and fairly interesting to a teeny, tiny segment of the population. I kept some of my class notes because I often wrote funny things that happened in class in the margins, but mainly I discovered I took an insane amount of notes about books I will never, ever read again. So many of the notes went, too. I was lucky it was my mother who was here; my father never would have let me toss it all. You see, I come by this penchant for writing and saving genetically!
While I did feel a few tiny pangs while recycling the lot, for the most part I haven't thought about it since. Will I regret this decision one day? I'm pretty sure not, but, if I do, I will remind myself that this was one of a collection of moments when my life changed dramatically, when I realized I was done being the person I had been, the person who wrote and saved all those papers. In my office that day, I was tossing away relics of a former life, a life I no longer lead, will not ever lead again. I did keep some of my old assignments and syllabi, because I may teach again, perhaps even some time soon, but really, in all truthfulness, the assignments I wrote years ago aren't going to be the assignments I want to give and read now, because, to review, I am no longer that person either.
Actually, that's what the whole process of weeding through my files and boxes from my past felt like: an excavation, during which I uncovered each of my past selves and then discarded each one, not because I was repudiating them, or anything dramatic like that, but because I realized I was through with them, though they will forever inform who I am now. It was a strange experience, actually; it doesn't often happen to me that I have the time to process while in the middle of an experience, but going through the past 20+ years in the space of a few days gave me just enough time to do what I have told so many of my less decisive friends in the past: deal and move on!
But that still leaves us with boxes and boxes of other stuff. Like, for instance, journals. I have a lot of those, surprisingly, given my track record with keeping up with daily writing (ahem, see previous failed blog). So what do I do with that box? Or, even more aggravating, past papers from college and grad school, including my dissertation work (ahem, see failed PhD). While my mother was here, I ended up chucking most of that, deciding that if I haven't looked at it since I left, which in pretty much all cases is the truth, then I am not going to look at it ever again. I kept some papers just to prove I was once as naive and earnest as they make me seem and a few chapter drafts just to prove I once had thoughts that were unique to me and fairly interesting to a teeny, tiny segment of the population. I kept some of my class notes because I often wrote funny things that happened in class in the margins, but mainly I discovered I took an insane amount of notes about books I will never, ever read again. So many of the notes went, too. I was lucky it was my mother who was here; my father never would have let me toss it all. You see, I come by this penchant for writing and saving genetically!
While I did feel a few tiny pangs while recycling the lot, for the most part I haven't thought about it since. Will I regret this decision one day? I'm pretty sure not, but, if I do, I will remind myself that this was one of a collection of moments when my life changed dramatically, when I realized I was done being the person I had been, the person who wrote and saved all those papers. In my office that day, I was tossing away relics of a former life, a life I no longer lead, will not ever lead again. I did keep some of my old assignments and syllabi, because I may teach again, perhaps even some time soon, but really, in all truthfulness, the assignments I wrote years ago aren't going to be the assignments I want to give and read now, because, to review, I am no longer that person either.
Actually, that's what the whole process of weeding through my files and boxes from my past felt like: an excavation, during which I uncovered each of my past selves and then discarded each one, not because I was repudiating them, or anything dramatic like that, but because I realized I was through with them, though they will forever inform who I am now. It was a strange experience, actually; it doesn't often happen to me that I have the time to process while in the middle of an experience, but going through the past 20+ years in the space of a few days gave me just enough time to do what I have told so many of my less decisive friends in the past: deal and move on!
David is still upset with his sister for trashing some of his HS journals when he was no longer living at home. I'm glad you were the one making the calls : )
ReplyDeleteI've tried to toss most of my old school work, but I don't think I could ever toss a journal. I mean, are you sure you're Mormon???