Of Shoes and Ships and Sealing Wax..

So I have a confession to make.
As I mentioned, I have recently moved house and during the process of boxing up my material goods I threw away:

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6 black sacks of clothes
2 black sacks of shoes
1 black sack of coats
1 black sack of bags
4 black sacks of paper
2 black sacks of generic junk

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That’s 16 black sacks, at 70 litres each, 1120 litres or
40 cubic feet’s worth of unnecessary clutter
which I did, of course, appropriately donate / recycle.

That my life had accumulated so much inconsequential junk is probably very telling a condition. It’d be difficult not to assert that we manifest outwardly only what is held within and, much like my internal state, some of what I was surrounding myself with was needless clutter, burdensome, and blatantly rubbish; some was perfectly viable gear, just not for me (“what possessed?!?” items) and some was truly a wrench to throw away.

You see, and here’s another somewhat redundant titbit, I’m a classic hoarder.

On the one hand I am somewhat of a reluctant materialist. Though I wish I could train myself into a Buddhist detachment from worldly goods I must sadly admit I am frequently motivated by money and ‘things’. To compound this, I am also hopelessly sentimental and cling on to worthless ticket stubs, notes, gifts, cards, photos and other mementoes going back years and years, all in shoe boxes. I revisit them regularly, scared incase I forget why I am keeping them.

But much like my childhood, where my better memories are of re-watching my youngest years captured on home movies rather than any recollection of the experiences themselves; I fear I, at times, imprint the memento, video or photograph over the feeling of actually living. So that when I come to think of the first moment I saw the dust, flame red, over New Delhi at dawn, I see the photograph I took to capture it. I have to mentally struggle to see past the frame of the photograph.

..Mementoes of friendships that didn’t survive past graduation, cards from beloved relatives who have long died, that broken necklace I meant to fix, the knitting I started and swore I could finish, the beautiful lamp I picked up in Chiang Mai night market but never changed the plug on.. all gone. The memory of each? Making me smile as I type.

And should I forget the memory of picking through the sand of the Sardinian coast now I have thrown away the shells I brought back, tucked into her empty cigarette packet? If I forget the smell of her tobacco and the sea?

That is the nature of progress. We’ll all fade out of memory someday. In trying to hold on to the past we forget the present, we forget to look outside the frame of this moment’s photograph. In forgetting to live now for the people among us we resign ourselves to a lifetime of memories, those we held on to too tightly and the memories of the people we overlooked and lost in doing so.

So if you see me pocketing that theatre ticket? Hiding behind a video camera?
Remind me..
40 cubic feet says I ought to be happier to forget.