I am quoting Marie Kondo in jest because this post is about finding treasures I’ve saved since sixth grade. Not that I take her ideas lightly, I own her book and have applied her method to my wardrobe. Er, part of my wardrobe. My tops actually. Just my tops. Took all day. (I still couldn’t let go of my collection of hot/cute/tiny T-shirts I wore during my stint as a bartender in Manhattan. Guess they still bring me joy?) Anyway.
For the record, one could only qualify me as a hoarder if I didn’t know what I had and where it was. Since I do however, it seems more likely that I am a great keeper of treasures. Such as this sweet box of notes from middle school.
My best friend from third grade, Kim (Morris the Cat as we called her) and I (Strawberry as we called me) made these boxes to house our in-class correspondence. We wrapped our boxes using the same paper. Hers had purple cats on top and pink below and I, the opposite. We were cleaver that way.
And what treasures I did find!
I don’t know if every middle schooler created cartoon versions of themselves, but Kim and I had a rich history of drawing with and for each other. I eventually moved to Texas and we became avid pen pals. I still have her beautiful letters (of course), neatly penned, well illustrated and full of little cut out bits from magazines and hand drawn E.T. and Fraggles.
One of my many sticker collections. And yes, I still collect them. They are so fun! I never stick them!
Shaun Cassidy? Oh yes… one of my many teen crushes… Da Doo Ron Ron me.
I was once advised by a friend (we’ll call her Kris) to let go of the extraneous stuff and paper in my life and experience the lightness of being minimalist. Why I would ever listen to such rubbish is only because she housed a large quantity of my life in her garage when I moved to New York. That, and, she herself lived a gorgeously minimalist life.
Each Texas visit I went to Kris’s to see my stuff. I have a vivid memory of sitting on her living room floor with a large box of correspondence from college summers, high school writing projects, love letters, band flyers and a paper trash bag. Kris’s vision was for me to make a haul to recycling or fuel a back yard burn pile. Instead I lovingly read each piece of paper, remembering where I was when I first read or wrote it, confronted with parts of my life I had forgotten or just wasn’t ready to forget. It was exhausting and I didn’t get far.
I gave up trying to let go and told Kris I would definitely for sure get my stuff on my next trip. (For the record, it stayed there until my eventual husband picked it up on his way to meet me in Durango for our eventual life with our eventual child. So, four and a half years in total. Thanks Kris!)
Why did I hang on to so much paper? My Psych 101 training tells me that moving around so much as a kid created a need for such an extensive paper trail. My memory has never been particularly strong and with so many chapters to tie together – so many addresses, schools, friends in different states – saving paper was a way to help keep it all straight.
Here I am, 15-ish years later, digitizing my paper trail and wondering – is the box meaningful? Is it necessary? Does it speak to my heart? Does it take up psychological space I could be using for something else? Should I burn it and find out? Maybe I’ll just read all the notes first… then decide.