Sunday Confessions: In My Closet
To say my closet is messy quite accurate.
It's kind of small and awkward with the door being small and to the left while the majority of the closet is to the right. It makes storing anything in there a little tricky.
Winter scarves, scrubs, jeans and cute tops all rudely jockey for spots on my cheap plastic hangers to avoid being brutally shoved in my even smaller dresser.
Bills, receipts, and papers that may be needed later on, holiday items and silly mementos are tossed to live on the top shelf.
Memories and heartbreak are stored haphazardly in cute little crates on the floor of my closet.
Books pour over one another in the corners each begging to be read over and over. They love it when their pages are turned and their stories come to life.
There's a light that's never turned on mainly because I fear it will force me to see how bad it truly is.
It is regulated chaos.
It is never so bad that I feel the need to glove up, go in and purge out everything.
There are days I stare through the door that never closes all the way wondering if I truly need everything that's in there.
In my head, I go over that things are just things and try to convince myself I'm not a materialistic person. I explain to myself a memory is better than any letter and space is a valuable commodity.
This goes on for a while.
I contemplate going through my crates and shoe boxes pitching out anything over five years old.
Then recalculate and decide it should be anything over a year old.
If I haven't seen it or used it in over year, I probably don't need it. That I'm not really sentimental and would not lose anything but gain space for new, more important items.
Or so I tell myself.
Once in a very great while, I will stop staring, get up and pull it all out.
The clothes will be scrutinized and categorized on my bed into what goes and what stays.
The books will be lined up and held accountable for their storylines that did not quite capture my attention and shuffled to stay and go piles as well.
Every marred holiday knick knack, old receipt, pictures of those I no longer talk to-put in the 'out' pile.
For a moment I feel victorious. Like I accomplished something that was bigger than me.
I take a break and sit on the bed next to the yet to be discarded objects and try to avoid them.
They serve me no purpose so I should not linger over them.
That lasts approximately five minutes.
Then I'm digging through the piles re-evaluating their presence in my life.
At first all sentiment is void.
But these objects start their appeal.
A birthday card from my aunt that passed away pops up pleading that I open her up just once. Conceeding, I gently open the yellow card with silly balloons and look at her slanted scrawl of "I love you" and hesitate before putting it down.
Every birthday rushes around me vividly recalling her face and making me think about time.
The time she told me to open a certain gift in private but my anxiousness got the best of me and I pulled out tons of pretty panties in front of my classmates.
The time she offered her house for my first boy girl party because she knew I was ready for one.
Every time I watched her and my mother laugh and make food for every party making me wish for a sister.
I gently put it down wondering if I really need to toss it.
This repeats with many of the items until everything besides a broken set of headphones, a wreath falling apart and a sweater I bought for no other reason than it was on sale is all safely tucked in the 'stay' pile.
I reconfirm what I fear. I am a sentimental being.
I would rather have hand me down pottery than dishes brand new. I love the worn look over the pristine. Smelling old books is a past time and kindles will never do it for me. Pictures and old letters will always be tucked away in my heart. When I hear Ave Maria I will always cry because it has been sung at almost every funeral I've attended.
There is no cutting a tie to my emotions.
I am lucky to have trinkets and little things that remind me good and bad times.
There are people who have no trinkets or anywhere to store them.
I am reminded of this when I volunteer at a shelter for women and children. With their clothes, school stuff and necessities there is room only left for them and their overwhelming determination to get out of there.
And even in tumultuous times, sometimes these families find a way to bring a little of their history with them. A photo album, a jewelry box, or a mothers address book.
Other times they arrive with the clothes on their back and resolution on their face ready to take a new path in life. They had no time to salvage items or mementos but just enough time to gather courage to get out.
And I remember that sentimental and materialistic are not related. That holding on to a favorite card does not make me a pack rat.
I am reminded every time one of the ladies talk about missing their favorite china, letters from their sister or even the joy of having their own closet that all we are ever made up of are the little things.
That holding on to the little moments of happiness is never a bad thing.
I hold on to everything. It all gets jostled back in my closet. Every letter, ticket stub, well loved book and scarf goes back in.
To say my closet is quite messy is accurate. It holds some of my most cherished possessions. It holds things I cannot replicate or duplicate. It holds memories and dreams and keeps space for other items who are yet to be loved.
And that's a perfect sized closet for me.