Where It Began: Learning to Let Go

 

The author at age 5 or 6, already an aspiring
minimalist in a charm necklace without
any charms.

    My relationship with material objects came with some tough lessons at a very young age. During a shopping trip at the department store, my mom bought me a Liz Claiborne purse that I absolutely treasured. It was 1986, and I felt like such a grown-up whenever I wore that purse. I put my most prized possessions in it, which were very much based on my sentimental attachment, and not having anything to do with their monetary value. I was five years old, after all, and since I had very little concept of money, my value of an object was tied directly to my enjoyment of it.


    One day, I decided to proudly bring my purse to kindergarten class. On the bus, I got a few compliments on the purse, which reaffirmed in my mind that it was worth the risk of bringing it to school. My memory is hazy on the actual event itself, but at some point during the day, my purse went missing. I was utterly devastated. I was, for a time, inconsolable. The next day on the school bus, another kid pointed out to me that the older bossy girl on the bus was carrying a purse that looked exactly like mine. She had a reputation for being a spoiled brat and accustomed to getting what she wanted. Everyone was convinced that she had stolen the purse. I went to the principal’s office with my mom and we reported the purse missing. I believe the bossy older girl from the bus was even brought in for questioning, but she denied it and the search turned up empty. I will never forget the school-wide announcement on the intercom that described my missing purse. “Light tan purse by Liz Claiborne. Contents of the purse include a rubber squeaky frog, a glitter fishing bait lizard, a Tinkerbell lipstick, a quartz crystal, and a Garbage Pail Kids card.”

    Seventh grade was the year of the one and only pair of expensive sunglasses that I would ever own. I was on a youth group trip to an amusement park and the intense sun was forcing me to walk around squinting. My mom agreed to purchase a pair of really nice sunglasses at the gift shop, with the caveat that I needed to take very good care of them because there would be no replacements. At the end of the trip, when we piled back into the car, I sat on the sunglasses and crushed them. Ever since then, when I buy $10-20 sunglasses, I manage to keep them for many years without incident.

    With each moment of my life where an object I cared about was lost or broken, a conscious realization was triggered that placing too much attachment onto an object could likely result in heartache. The reality is that even if an object manages not to be stolen, lost, or broken, inevitably it will still not last forever. It will fade, peel, become brittle, and even eventually decompose. The most important significance about that object was the enjoyment it brought, or the memory I associated with it. Long after an object is gone, the memory and sentiment is still there, and the joyful moments it brought us will always be a part of us. All of those memories and associated feelings live in our hearts and minds, and the object was just the visual cue.

    So, how do we go about deciding what objects we keep, and how do we learn to let go of things that we feel attachment toward but are taking up too much space? This is a topic we will explore together through my stories in this blog. As a professional organizer, I tend to take a philosophical and psychological approach to helping my clients learn how to declutter. If you find this topic as fascinating as I do, I hope you’ll follow along for the ride.