As one who, like my mother and my mother’s mother, SAVE things, I resonated with this wonderful article on the Southwest Airline Magazine as I flew home from visiting my parents. The issue of clutter and what we leave behind is very much on my mind these days. Some day, I will confess my own private underground museum we refer to as “The Hall of Tschotchkes.”
A fun read:
Every marriage has its…stuff. I just had to learn to love my husband’s old junk, and my own past, as much as he did.
By Taffy Brodesser-Akner
While preparing to move to Los Angeles in 2005, I did what I always do before a big move: I got rid of most of my stuff. My fiancé (now husband) awaited me in L.A., and I wanted to start our new life unfettered by relics of the past. My first full-sized bed? Couldn’t sell it fast enough. My college textbooks? Donated to the library. Those pictures my roommate and I painted of the Manhattan skyline during that lone minute when we were both single and giddy and feeling creative at the same time? There’d be no place for them in my life. Everything had to go.
This was a familiar ritual for me. My parents divorced when I … [Read the entire story.]