That's funny. Looking around my home, it's pretty obvious I hold onto a lot. Books, papers, clothing...shoes, beauty products, dishes...
Why? Memories. I'm a memory keeper. I'm reflective by nature, and I guess I'm kinda weird in that I don't really feel that I've experienced my experiences unless I've written about them.
Therefore, I do a lot of journaling, blogging, social media posting.
..."Today I walked across the road, across the field, and down to the creek. Once again, my boots got muddy. And yet again, I almost got stuck. Literally."
I'm sure I bore folks to death, but it's just my way, okay?
My house is like a family museum. Please don't get the wrong idea and think I'm bragging about owning something fancy. Quite the opposite is true.
My house is filled with family cast offs that nobody else really wants.
Because I live in an old, old house where generations of my family have lived, this seems like the place to deposit those family cast offs, because, you know, they would look good in here. They suit the place. Some of it was carried off from here decades ago.
I'm not really complaining. I kinda like being surrounded with things that have a story attached.
New stuff doesn't have that, unless it got rained on during delivery, or blew off the truck and got broken, or you stubbed your toe on it carrying it in, or you pulled your back out of whack when you picked it up.
If you keep your new stuff around long enough, it will most likely collect some stories, I guess, but I digress.
What am I holding onto?
If I'm not careful, if I don't make a serious effort to counter my natural instincts (because I think it is hereditary, ha!), I'll hold onto everything.
The past in general, belongings, memories...even grudges.
And some of that's not good. Still, if someone told me to not look back, I'd surely turn into a pillar of salt.
Sometimes I wonder, what would it be like to only live in the moment, with an eye toward the future most of the time?
I really can't imagine, but I reckon some folks operate like that.
I'm holding onto a photo of this little guy. I don't know who he is, or was, but someone told me he once lived here. So I keep him on the dresser next to my children. (Those are obviously not my children in the other photo. They are my badass grandpa and his brother-in-law, both of whom died long before I was born.) But they are family, so I hang onto 'em!
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