It’s not that hard anymore.
Seeing all the old stuff that happily gathered dust in the corners and on the shelves of my old life.
It’s less emotional now.
“No, mom, I don’t want that; he gave it to me.”
She wordlessly takes it and I never see it again.
Or sometimes I don’t need to chronicle it at all.
I stare at the red and pink sweater he gave me for a valentine’s day spent in Philadelphia years ago. I still like the colors, but I remember how disappointingly itchy it always was.
The bottom line.
And into the discard pile it goes.
It’s easy, really. So much easier to let go than to maintain all the energy it takes to hold on.
I don’t want to live a white-knuckled grip life. Not when it means you’re holding onto the dead. So much better to bury the dead. To allow the ground to hold onto what is only a burden now. To let the old become new with each blade of grass and wildflower that grows there, eventually.
I am not a hoarder. Not physically, and (dear God, please!) not emotionally, either.
If it is no longer helpful, let it go.
I stare at the jeans I wore for two years straight. Guess jeans. I bought them when I was so sad and my belly was so full of that sadness, that I no longer had room for hunger or food. So then none of my jeans fit me anymore. They hung on me like I was a car painted with drooping toilet paper on mischief night. Like I was the girl who couldn’t wait to grow up and so wore my mama’s ill fitting clothes to expedite the process.
I bought new jeans. Skinnier jeans. They hugged my bones the way I wished something would please hug my heart. Bind it up. Make it so it’d just stop hurting.
I looked at those jeans today. The dark color and tiny waist and boot cut lines. And I thought about the jeans I wear now. They’re skinny cut. I fill them out better. I no longer need the guess jeans to hug my bones or my heart.
The Guess jeans went.
I don’t need them anymore.
I gathered up a few things I wanted to keep. A ridiculously fabulous satin jacket I had purchased on tour–the kind that would make Nikki Minaj jealous. My headshot from A Chorus Line. My journals time-lining my various crushes and prayers and SUPER BIG DEALS that eventually faded from even my memory. A gift from a friend after traveling to Germany. A lipstick that still tastes like watermelon.
But the rest of the stuff, I’m done with. There’s so much more in front of me than behind. And though I love the sentiment behind the saying, “The best days are still ahead,” I’d rather not wait, if you don’t mind.
I’d rather celebrate now. These days. Because they’re pretty darn beautiful.