You know what they say – you can’t go home again. Well, I did. So technically I can go home again. It’s just filled with layers of junk from childhood, high school, college, and early adulthood that I’ve all but forgotten about and mostly no longer really want (I’m looking at you, Walkman).
I’ve been cleaning my childhood room out to make space for my husband to move in. (Let that sentence sink in for a bit.) Since graduating high school, I have pretty much treated this room as a shrine to, and protector of, my childhood. (Hey! I’m not the only one, you should see my sister’s room.) We’re a sentimental family of hoarders and collectors; the result is a room- heck, a house- filled with 30 years of varying degrees of detritus. I see this as a really good opportunity to work on letting go of things, to simplify my life.
It’s just really hard when I come across something like my old calendars from college and grad school. I love looking through them and seeing notes for class assignments, dinners, birthdays, trips, etc. It helps me remember different parts of my life. And this is where I derail. I’ve been cleaning my room for over a month now.