The Things We Keep

 

I was born and raised in an era of collections. People not only collected things that came to them naturally, but industries created collections to lure people into purposeful gathering. When I thumbed through Mom’s magazines as a young girl, I saw pages of porcelain dolls, plates, coins, and more. I tore out the pages, because keeping those became the version of collection I could afford. I made photo albums of things I would collect if I could.

            And, to be fair, I did have a collection of my own. When my mom announced to the family that she was expecting me, my sister had just been to Washington D.C. on her senior trip. She had purchased a little souvenir liberty bell, and the story I’ve heard is that she ran around the house ringing the bell in great excitement at the news of a new baby on the way. That bell became the first in a bell collection that grew rapidly throughout my childhood. I still have it – boxed away in storage.

            That seems to be what happens to many collections. They’re boxed away – from a lack of space or a lack of interest. Collections leave us with more things, but sometimes (over time) less connection to those things.

            Ryan and I live in a community that is big on auctions, and I see ads often for estate sales. I flip through them just to see what people are selling, and I’m sometimes overwhelmed by the muchness of what we (collectively speaking) have.

            It’s so easy to collect much – whether or not it’s considered a collection.

            When Ryan and I were first married, we were eager to create a physical story in our home that reflected the daily story we lived. We began unofficial collections of our own. Sometimes we added to them and sometimes others gifted us additions. A decade into this story we live, I realize that we need to leave margin for the decades to come.

            The things we keep need to be meaningful. They need to make up our home, but they also need to leave room for things that may come along later, associated with memories we have yet to make.

            Ryan and I have always said – from the moment we were married and combined households – that we want anything we keep to tell part of the story of who we are. If it doesn’t accomplish that, we will let it go. But now we’re realizing that even within our own story, there are things we need to let go.

            It’s scary, sometimes, to put something away permanently. But I submit to you that even more than being scary, it’s freeing. We are grateful that we have photo albums chronicling memories, so if we want to go back to the memory itself, we can do it through a picture. We don’t always need an item in our face to add to that.

            Keep the things that matter to you. Keep the things that tell a story. But I hope you can also find the freedom in letting go of the things that no longer tell the most important story.

            The things we keep ultimately go to someone else. Maybe they go in an estate sale. Maybe they go through gifting. Maybe they go through inheritance. But they will all go. Let’s make the stories that go with them meaningful!

            Side note: Many months ago, I read on social media a story about a lady who had died. She was ill for several months before she passed away, and during that time, she went through her possessions and made gift collections for people in her life. She wrote letters to them explaining why she gifted them the things she chose. After her death, they received these gifts and letters – and none of them knew they were coming. What a meaningful idea!

            Whether or not we take a cue from the woman I read about online, we all keep things that will all one day go to someone else. May the stories they reflect – for us and for them – matter much!