I am a secret hoarder. You can be a secret hoarder when you have a big house with lots of closets and a garage. Your friends will think you are one of the tidiest and most organized people they know. They are wrong.
You cannot be a secret hoarder when you live in a condo, and you share a big underground garage with 500 other people where only cars, not stuff, are allowed. You cannot be a secret hoarder when your only storage area is a 4x8 cage. Still, my 4x8 cage is a tower of wonders--bins stacked on bins stacked on shelves, the walls lined with s-hooks hanging all the things I want to someday need but might not ever need.
I prepared for the great downsizing. I gave things away. I had an auction. I gave more things away. I sold things to friends. I sold probably half my furniture to the new owners of my big house. I gave still more things away. But still, I have dozens of pens. Dozens of markers, and document clips, and paper clips, and pencils, and rubber bands, and envelopes. And hundreds of post-its and boxes of staples. I have journals and more journals, both empty and full. I have index cards, and journals made of tear-out index cards. I have books and more books. I have so many books that I cried yesterday when I tried to fit them on my fabulous wall unit after it got installed. There wasn't enough room even though I made more space in my bedroom and in my closet. So, weeping while I worked, I boxed up four boxes of books to give away. And I lived.
Long live e-books. Long live my book-sized iPad mini. Long live the written word. Long live poetry, and novels, and memoir. Long live essay collections, and story collections, and anthologies and books about birds and whales. Long live books written by dear friends, and writers I'll never meet. Long live all those words that have mended all the broken places, filled the empty places, and emptied out the places full of sorrow and bitterness. Dear writers of those words, thank you.
4 comments:
When I moved into my condo after I left my husband I liked it because nothing could be hidden which was the theme of our marriage. It's a lovely bookcase but culling books is hard work.
Denise, first let me say: Your writing is some of the most inspirational stuff I read. Wait. I feel like I should edit that to make it more powerful. Let me try again: Every time I read one of your posts, I sigh at the beauty of your words, and I come away inspired in some way--to give more, live more, love more, write more. Maybe even sing more.
My lungs decided for me some years ago that I couldn't keep many books around. Dust is now potentially lethal. (I know, I know; I can't browse used bookstores anymore, either.) So I had to do a profound culling of my books (while wearing a painter's mask). Now when I finish a new book, I close the cover and stare at it. "Where will you go, my love? To a good friend who will appreciate your plot? To the local library? To the Free Little Library up the road? To the prison outreach program?" I decide, and set the book on a counter where it will be in my way until I send it off to its next reader. Now, I guess, I'm like a foster mom of books.
Thanks for sharing this. It's profound to consider all the stuff that surrounds us and how much meaning it holds. You are very brave. I'm excited to hear what happens and what new things will come after your clear out. ❤️
I just wanted to say HI! and let you know I have checked in on you from time to time for years. I enjoy your blog and have similarities in circumstances. Thank you for sharing. : ) C
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