I’ve been on a three week tour of the world. The American Southwest and West Coast, Africa, South America, Central America, Asia, Europe. I’ve passed through young romances, professional successes, family milestones, educational adventures, cultural experiences, a multitude of losses and gains.
How did I manage this in three weeks?
Thinking about some day moving from this townhouse I have inhabited since the ’80s and leaving here (and this earth eventually) lighter, I decided to shred my life.Even though the “clutter” was neatly boxed and behind doors in my loft, I decided to spend the winter break sorting through decades of memorabilia and financial and business papers, eliminating as much as possible to lighten the load for the movers — and eventually for my offspring.
Despite the woes of residents of studios and small apartments, I can attest to the fact that it is possible to have too much space. My home has a third floor loft, which I had finished many years ago with flooring built out to the eaves on both sides and enclosed with sliding doors.
So, while my long-flown sons would attest that I am a “neatnik,” I never threw anything out. But, unlike most hoarders, everything was boxed and labeled.
Ephemera from my travels to more than 40 countries and most of the United States were filed neatly in separate envelopes and saved in individual cartons. This included brochures, the postcards I bought to substitute for the photos I don’t take, maps, impressions, even videos other travelers sent after the trips.
Tax forms, bookkeeping sheets from my public relations business, bills and checkbooks had their own place in separate cartons, each holding several years’ worth of records. Ditto for personal financial information. Just imagine three decades of check stubs.
Most nostalgic was the collection of personal letters, my musings on friendships and romantic relationships, notes I took after every therapy session, articles I’d saved because they “spoke to me.” Because I’m a writer, writing is the way I understand my life — and so there were massive quantities of my output in this area. There were many stops and emotions ranging from sadness to joy as I worked — remembering old friends who are no longer with us, re-living past adventures and journeys as well as family feuds and misunderstandings, knowing that all this has contributed to who I am today.
I borrowed a heavy duty shredder for the confidential information but just tossed en masse files of client materials — press releases, brochures, correspondence, personnel reports — for businesses ranging from costume jewelry and funeral insurance to commercial real estate and amusement parks.
Trash disposal in my residential community is in Dumpster areas, each of which has multiple containers for paper and recyclables. Rather than hoard available space, I used the bins in several different enclosures. For weeks, this was an almost daily task.
Three quarters of the way through this ambitious project, I had dinner with two close friends, also seniors. “I’ve never seen you smiling and laughing so much,” Jasha said to me. “This lightening up has definitely affected you personally.”
Before the reader assumes that there is nothing left of this interesting life of many accomplishments, I hasten to say that I have retained some letters from family members and other correspondence and significant work samples and material that I believe will have importance, value, and interest to my family. But I’ve been merciful in quantity.
In a phone conversation, when I told my younger son, who lives in San Francisco, about these efforts and especially the information in the paragraph above, he said, “Oh, Mom, you’re leaving us an edited version of your life!”
Next I’m going to tackle my seven closets and all the bathroom and kitchen cabinets. Salvation Army here I come.
