For my husband hoarding is more of an issue of utility. Our attic is stacked with boxes for every electronic item we've acquired since we've been married. He also can't seem to let go of things that he's used for years and considers to still be good, even long after I've bought a new one to replace it...i.e. his travel shaving kit, 3 mismatched dining chairs, and his white Polo shirt that has a salsa stain.
My sensitivity to these traits in us was heightened recently when we helped my parents move. Since they're transitioning to a smaller house with less storage, for now, it was imperative for me to officially take ownership of many Rubbermaid tubs full of memories of my childhood, teenage, and college years, in order to free up more space for my parents' junk. The sheer volume of things my mother, and to some extent myself, had accumulated over the years was quite sobering.
I must admit I have mixed emotions about accumulating "stuff." On the one hand, I see the futility of it all. Having so much "stuff" weighs you down. It requires more space to accomodate its mass. It adds to your "baggage" on so many levels. The mere presence of it limits your mobility. How can we abandon self and leave it all when there's just SO MUCH stuff involved?!
On the flip side, I can easily see how we become so attached. I saw the tears that glimmered in my mother's eyes as we sorted through bin after bin that contained things like my childhood stuffed animals, recipes her mother (my grandmother) had scrawled on index cards, the dress I wore when I was baptized, notes from my piano teacher, and even (surprisingly) the one thing that seemed to have the most emotional attachment of them all...the tweezers and small mirror that had always enjoyed a permanent residence in the sill of my grandparents' bay window...where my grandmother, Helen, could at any time pluck her eyebrows in the natural light. Funny, isn't it? The things we think will serve as reminders of our lives vs. the things that actually do.
On a lighter note, I was able to take advantage of my parents' down-sizing and managed to repurpose several of the items below:
Many years' worth of seashells I collected as a child
A pair of butterfly prints I've always admired
And...my favorite treasure...my mother's luggage from the 70's
Who knows if I'll ever carry the luggage? In reality I probably won't. It doesn't have rollers, so it's not that practical. Not to mention, I would hate to see it ruined or damaged by being mishandled by a skycap. Why? I'm not sure. After all, it's been packed away for years. It's not as if its being damaged would be somehow detrimental, since it hasn't been used in quite some time.
That being said, I still can't imagine anything happening to it. The same way I don't want to see anything happen to the large tubs of Cabbage Patch Kids, Care Bears, Little Golden Books, and other memorabilia that my children (if the Lord has enough of a sense of humor to bless me with any) will probably care nothing about. I can foresee a day in the distant future when I will force my children to make the decision whether to save or toss their childhood toys, books, and keepsakes so I can easily transition into my hassle-free retirement. Like my mother, I'll probably realize that my attachment to these items run far deeper than my childrens' ever will...and just keep them myself. I still won't know why. But, then again, does it really matter?
Q: Why do we refuse to get rid of our junk?
A: Because we just can't bear to let go...
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