On perspective and junk

I've got a lot of junk.  I have no idea where it all came from.  Well, actually, that's a lie.  I know exactly where it all came from, and that's precisely the problem.  You see, I have collected things of various sorts throughout my life:  a teddy bear from the day I was born, ballet slippers I wore as a toddler, participation ribbons and trophies from elementary school, advertisements for shows I was in in high school, news paper articles I was featured in in college, and materials, lots and lots of materials, from my first two years of grad school.  I've been collecting stuff since the day I was born and I have been neglecting to throw things away since that same day, because everything seems to have an attachment to a time in my life that I can clearly remember and, apparently, that I would like to continue to remember.

And that brings me to this very day.  Today.  Three days before I am set to move away from my parents home (again) and to an apartment even further away than the one I just left.  I've been living away from home for about two years now, but I certainly didn't take everything with me when I left.  A ton of stuff stayed.  A ton of stuff that I'm now having to sort through for fear that if I do not, my parents will become so fed up with the stuff that they will take it upon themselves to chuck it all in one giant dumpster.  And I don't want that because despite the fact that most of this stuff is completely disposable, there are a lot of things that have a lot of meaning.  I've got photographs of friends, recordings of performances I was in, my first CD, posters of boy bands long forgotten. These are the things that matter to me.

But the interesting thing is that had you asked me two years ago I would have said that all of it mattered to me. Now, aside from the select few things, I really wonder why I kept most of this stuff.

It's amazing what a bit of distance and time will do because  now looking at it all I realize that there's more junk than matter.   With the distance and time has come perspective.  I've lived more.  I've experienced more.  I've realized that while I thought in 8th grade that a plastic cross necklace, prominently printed with "Jesus Loves You," was something important, to be saved and displayed on my dresser, now it's just a meaningless eyesore.  While the senior photo of a high-school acquaintance was a keepsake then, it's now just a nice image that I can access on Facebook.  While a screen-print fitted t-shirt from sixth grade was my very favorite in elementary school, now it's just a reminder of a fashion statement that I'm happy to have seen disappear.

Distance and time bring perspective, and apparently perspective brings full trash bags...and fresh starts.

Keep on thinking,
Josie