THE ART OF LETTING GO

Goodbye, memories of the past. During the Great Move 2014, Charlie attempted to throw out his high school yearbooks, but I saved them. For some reason, I thought he might regret the decision. Months later, I sorted through some boxes and found my high school yearbooks and super old journals. As I studied the old and creepy spider nest thingys on a few of the yearbooks, I thought, “Why am I keeping these?”

High school wasn’t really the time of my life. I have fond memories of some stuff, but for the most part, my high school years weren’t my favorite. So, why do I want to page through some books and look at pictures of people I don’t really keep in touch with. Now, I understand why Charlie wanted to throw away his yearbooks. He had no attachment to some of the visible memories or the people.

I really didn’t want to page through my yearbooks even after quickly brushing off the spider nesty thingys. I had no desire to find dead or alive spiders between the pages — so the choice was pretty simple. Hello, garbage bag. Next up, about a dozen old journals from my angsty days. After flipping through a few pages and reading a few entries, I had no problem tossing those books into the garbage bag.

Boy problems. Overanalyzing. Work issues. Overthinking. Life drama. Guy problems. Guy crushes. Great dates. Bad dates. Nope. I have no desire to reread all the issues I had with guys before I met Charlie. When I look back at those days, I’m so incredibly grateful and happy to share my life with Charlie. No, I don’t really need to relive my traumatic dating period, and no one else needs to know my thoughts and feelings on past matters.

Even when I’m gone and my nieces and nephews are sifting through my stuff, they don’t need to read my inner most thoughts. Honestly, I highly doubt they would find anything inspirational or motivational in my old journals. All they would discover would be my various celebrity crushes — Russell Crowe, Owen Wilson, George Clooney, Jake Gyllenhaal, etc. My journals are far from Anne Frank’s diaries.

Before I threw out my yearbooks and journals, I seriously thought about tossing out my old cross country and track books that an old high school coach made and gave to all the runners at the end of the season. My sisters still have their books stowed away somewhere in their houses. The last time I looked at my cross country books was during my move with Charlie. For the past five years, the books sat in a box on a shelf.

After much consideration, I threw the books out. If the only time I’m paging through the books is whenever I move, then I don’t really need them. Right? Right. Just agree with me. As of right now, I honestly don’t have any regrets throwing out the yearbooks, my journals, and other memory stuff. I love walking down memory lane as much as the next person, but I also look forward to making new memories.

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