Letting go

To my surprise, and Steve's delight, I accomplished both things that I set out to do this past weekend.  The first was making the chicken stock that I talked about yesterday and the second was putting some no longer wanted/needed items up for sale on ebay.  Steve and I often battle about how much "stuff" is allowed to come into our house.  He gives me a hard time about all of it, but I maintain that there are different kinds of "stuff" and they don't all carry the same weight.  For example, for me, a box full of cheap plastic crap is "stuff" that can and should be gotten rid of.  A box of linens and dishes is "stuff" that is useful, that has a history, and that should be saved and then passed on.  Having too much of the former makes my chest tighten and keeps me from feeling at ease, while I will never refuse to give space to the latter.

I've listed my childhood collection of She-Ra dolls and the thought of parting with them is harder than I had anticipated, given my opinions on cheap plastic crap.  I don't want them.  I don't want to display them or play with them and I don't see anything to be gained by keeping them in a box for another twenty years.  I don't want to pass them down to my children someday, either.  Not only will my kids have no idea who "She-Ra" is, these are exactly the little plastic toys that I'm hoping to keep out of their lives.  But, when I look at them, they're just so pretty.  And I mean that.  They're shiny and brightly colored and they have long pretty hair and they sparkle.  When I look at them, I think of being a child and of playing with them.  I don't have any specific crystal-clear memories associated with these specific dolls, but they do remind me of a specific feeling: that of being young and solitary and full of imagination.

It often surprises me how little I remember about my childhood, and maybe that has something to do with my current difficulty in letting go.  That in letting go of these toys, maybe, I'm also somehow letting go of the few memories that I do have.  But, I take a deep breath and I remind myself (yet again) that my memories are not contained in these objects.  They're in me and in the people that I love.  I don't need things like these around to remember, and that's a very freeing feeling indeed.

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