If I were to look unblinkingly into the mirror of life, I’d recognize myself as a hoarder. I don’t think I’d qualify for a reality show or an intervention, but still, the hoarding tendencies are there. I could blame my scattered thoughts, my three kids, or my constant lack of sleep, although I think the roots of my condition run much deeper.
I think holding onto things is my way of trying to control the passage of time. —
I saw it last week when I finally committed to purging the bedroom my two boys share. There are certain challenges that come from two boys – ages 8 and 15 – sharing a single space. True, they share a love of footballs, soccer balls, baseballs, tennis balls, but after that their interests diverge. My little guy likes Beyblades and Pokemon cards. My older guy spends his time with electronics. Fitting all the items they worship – neatly and coherently – into a 9′x12′ room would be a challenge for even the most organized. Which, clearly, I am not.
So I stuff. And look away. And close the door. But you can only run so far before clutter catches up. It’s always there; waiting to depress and overwhelm. It taunts me and tells me I don’t have what it takes to keep a living space simple.
Last week, when enough was enough, I entered their room; contractor bag in hand. I told myself I’d be ruthless. With both boys at school, I’d have no one to protest the purging. And it went well, at first. I did not hesitate tossing happy meal toys or the clothes that had been worn to shreds. It was easy to rid the space of the broken or the meaningless. Then it got harder.
I had nearly cleared the last shelf when I came to a cubed wooden farm puzzle. Instantly I could see the dimpled hands of my younger boy, a few years back, working that puzzle with passionate focus. Turning cube after cube until the overall image was complete. Then he’d take a few moments to admire his work before beginning it again. I thought of myself, as mother to that toddler, wanting to stop time and envelope the last of her babies. Of course, he’s moved on. That brightly colored puzzle doesn’t call to him anymore.
It should have been easy to put it in the Goodwill pile. It wasn’t. With a melancholy heart I looked around at all the things I thought I was prepared to give away. A gray puppy dog sweater from The Gap. Thomas trains and tracks. There was no need to hold onto these things any longer, but letting them go felt like cutting the last tie I had to my life with young children.
For a moment, I panicked and thought of putting all of that stuff back on the shelves. Leaving the room crowded, but memory-filled. But I didn’t. I stayed strong. I fought the more emotional me so common sense could prevail. Time marches forward, after all, whether I hang onto clutter or not. Letting it go feels really good. It feels freeing. It can give you a clearer view of today, and an unobstructed look at tomorrow.
I gave a lot of nice things to Goodwill that day. I hope some of it brings joy to another child with dimpled hands and a curious mind. I’ll always miss the baby days. I’ll always have a hard time fighting my urge to clutter. When I’m holding onto certain things more tightly than I should, I remember the words of a wise friend: “You have to make a space, to fill a space.” There are memories waiting to be made.
