I’m in “letting go” mode these days. Letting go of fat, letting go of clutter, letting go of inhibitions and fears and things that are holding me back.
It’s all about Becoming Cheryl.
A brief history of my adult life: In 1998 I moved from Oklahoma to Mississippi. In 1999 I moved from Mississippi to New York City. In 2003 I moved from New York City back to Oklahoma. In 2006 I moved from Oklahoma to Florida.
The 1998 and 1999 movies were pretty simple. I attached a trailer to my car, loaded up my crap and moved.
The 2003 move was a bit more difficult. I rented a large truck and towed my car behind. I moved in with my best friend who had a tiny house, and put almost everything I owned in storage. Mind you, when I left NYC I threw away nothing. It all went into unmarked boxes and came with me.
For nearly 3 years I paid for a storage facility for this stuff, at $40 a month. Then when I moved to Florida, I rented another truck (smaller, but still, a truck) and towed my car behind.
The apartment in Florida was teensy, so this time things went into storage again, this time at $100 a month, for another two years. When we moved to a house in 2007 everything came out of storage and is now in one of two places: the garage or the shed.
I realize we’ve lived in this house for almost 3 years. That stuff just hasn’t been touched.
I’m amazed at how much of it is junk. Things that should have never been moved. Money wasted on storage.
I’ve got a ton of stuff to sell, and what doesn’t sell is going to another garage sale in May. What doesn’t sell then is getting donated or trashed.
Speaking of trash, holy cow! Bags and bags full of crap that is broken, or cannot be reused, or that no one will ever want.
The things I’m looking through is my personal archaeology. It’s the remnants of the old me, the me I was in Oklahoma, the Mississippi, then NYC, then Oklahoma. There’s even some of me from the past couple of years.
I can tell financially where I was. I can tell by what I purchased where I was in my personal development. I can see the loneliness, the sadness and the despair. I can see that I was trying to buy myself happy.
I can also see by how things were packed that I was so scared of letting things go. Everything I owned has been dragged across country a million times, like a big, dusty, boxy security blanket.
And today, virtually none of it means anything to me anymore. I am a slashing, trashing, selling machine. The less I own, the better, because none of it really means anything.
It’s all just chains weighing me down to a life I no longer want to live.