I’ve been collecting books for years now and at certain points in my life, I have taken sections of those books and sold them, clearing space for new books. As I moved from place to place, I seemed to accumulate more books. Sometimes I would lose track of what I had on the shelves and end up with two copies of the same book. Recently when I moved into my new space, I felt for the first time ever a prisoner of my books, of the books that meant so much to me sitting on the shelves, many unread, but waiting, teasing, serving some purpose unknown to myself. Were they a placeholder to fill some void all these years of rummaging through second hand stores and used bookstores? I had never felt that or maybe I didn’t want to believe it, but for the first time—and it could have to do with also finding love again—but for the first time in my life, I don’t feel the need to keep all of these books. Even if I had the space, which I currently do not, I would not be too sad if I gave up many of them. I don’t have tons of books like many here, but I have enough boxes of books that they are a sort of nuisance because I don’t have the space. They stay hidden from me. If I don’t peek inside and just throw the box to the sea, I would not miss what was inside of it. The moment I lift the lid, however, is when I have second thoughts.
I have not moved many times, but the few times I have, there was much to let go. I wondered how I accumulated so many objects, so much paper, so many words. I was especially selective this time on what would come with me and what would be donated or thrown out. It was difficult. Each trip I made to donate my things, I felt that I had gotten rid of a lot of stuff, but it seemed that there was still so much. I felt it pressing down on me, my stomach in tangles. There were moments I sat and stared at everything tossed about on the floor in piles. Piles to keep and piles to give up. I took my time, not wanting to make the same mistake I did last time, which was to box everything up and deal with it later. I needed to make choices now, conscious choices that would leave the unneeded old energy behind.
Even though I am now settled into my new space—our new space, there is still a small chunk that I need to release. The bulk of items that this applies to is books, old school work, my journals, and clothing. I realized that some journals go back so long ago that they no longer have a place in my life. I also realized that by hanging onto these journals, they are merely sitting there collecting dust and not being used productively. Part of me wants to select how far back I want to go and find the glimmers of light, the pieces that I can use or glean inspiration from; the other part of me wants to take all those journals and toss them to sea and start anew.
I am happy to have unloaded of many items I no longer needed that didn’t move me, but rather seemed to keep me in a sort of limbo. As the weeks and months unfold, I would like to continue releasing these objects and live with the very minimum. It feels good not to feel a prisoner to these things, and I feel more at peace with my books and know that I will slowly release many. I don’t feel a deep attachment where I can’t let certain items go, but when I see them, they may speak to something deep inside of me that thinks I should hold onto this or that.
In life it is important to live without regret.
In life it is important to feel free, yet learn how to navigate through the spots that feel constricting.
Life is amazing.
Life is that great midnight globe that spins and spins and lights up and sparkles. I thank you dear Universe for smiling down upon me, and I forever ask for your guidance in all that I do.
Peace and love to all.