As I was trying to fall asleep last night—I kept thinking about how I was surrounded by boxes…just boxes of my stuff, EVERYWHERE. I find moving obnoxious and would rather pay people to do it than lift a finger myself, because it overwhelms me to be surrounded by cardboard boxes. I have to literally take them all, and pile them up along the wall, or I can’t sleep. It drives me insane. Maybe it’s not the boxes themselves though—maybe it’s looking at my stuff…my MEMORIES—being shoved into boxes and labeled to where it fits into my life. Mostly, because I have no idea where ¾ of the things I own, fit into my life.
I can’t just have boxes that say “kitchen” or “bedroom.” I have to have my boxes labeled specific to what is in them. I can label them things like; “candles,” “jeans,” “boots,” “silverware,” etc. If there are multiple things on the box—I freak out if they are not labeled accordingly. Why so obsessive compulsive? It makes me nervous, that when I put my stuff into boxes, it’s like I’m putting away a part of me. Like I’m taking something I have great attachment to, and putting it out of sight for some undetermined amount of time. Sometimes, I’m afraid if that box were to get lost or broken, I might lose that part of me forever.
As the night grew on (and sleep did NOT come,) I began to think of the boxes as a metaphor. I started to feel trapped by my walls of boxes—literally, I felt “boxed in.” I felt like all the memories/things I have collected over the years, are making me feel like I should be one way—when really I’m completely different. Normally, it would drive me insane to have my sister at my house, forcing me to part with things I’ve collected over the years, but something about this time was different. As she stood making me pick which shampoos I used the most often, and which perfume I could part with—I started to feel at ease with this entire process. So much so, that even though she was not around yesterday –I cleaned out a bunch of drawers and threw out 2 trash bags of stuff from my apartment. This was on top of the 7 bags we took out on Friday, plus the 12+ bags of clothing/stuff we decided to consign. This was a milestone for me.
Why the change? I feel like people are kind of like boxes. We take things like memories and experiences, and hide them away for a moment we want/need to think about them later. Why am I holding on to all of these things that don’t fit my life anymore? A gold candleholder I bought because it matched my apartment and I'm obsessive to the point I won't keep things that dont match? A black table cloth that goes on the table I am getting rid of? Shoes I haven’t worn in over a year? I do not need any of this stuff. It’s time to move on from all these things I don’t “need.”
What did I keep, one might ask? In a box that still remains unlabeled, is a collection of the things I could not part with. Movie stubs from “date nights” with Becker, pictures of my friends and I during our college years, the invitation from Cooper’s baby shower, the thank you card Sarah and Chris sent me for throwing the baby shower, a card with a schedule of dance classes I have taken, a few cards that came attached to some very special flowers I received, my K-State Alumni pin, letter inside a New York frame, and so on…the box my sister would call the “make it in to a scrapbook box.” Isn’t it interesting, of all my possessions, I would freak out if I had to part with these? These things have little worth to someone who would try to rob me, but to me, they mean everything.
This got me thinking—Maybe the reason boxes bother me so much, is because once you put tape on a box, it’s pretty much ruined. If a box is taped shut, when you open it, or try to rip off the tape, it compromises the structural integrity of the box. Part of the box is ripped away, never to be fully in tact again. Maybe people are like that. All of the memories we make—are intertwined as part of us, and when you try to shut those out, or disconnect from them—it’s virtually impossible. Now, if you’re thinking “what if you slice through the tape to where it doesn’t rip away any of the box? It still proves my point. Every person we meet…every memory we create…is stuck to us—the good as well as the bad. So, at what point—do we become a totally different person than we were before? How much of our structure has to be compromised, before we don’t even recognize ourselves?
Every time we pack our lives into boxes, we start to realize how we are different from the previous time we packed our lives up and moved them somewhere else. I sat in my apartment last night, trying to figure out what I wanted to pack, and I was so overwhelmed. Part of me just wants to throw out all of these meaningless things like; collections of makeup, tons and tons of clothes, dvds, furniture, etc. Why do I want/need any of this stuff? I am moving into a house with another girl (who has already furnished it) so really—all I really need is a bed, some clothes, bathroom stuff, a computer (online classes), and maybe a television to fall asleep to.
Maybe all the things I’ve been moving from year to year, have become less special as they are put into one box, and then packed up in another. Somehow these memories feel tarnished and overplayed. I’m ready to make some new ones. Memories where I don’t look back on my life and think “I’m 26…and all I have to show for it is a house full of stuff.” I need only a full box of stuff, like the unlabeled one that now sits in the corner of my apartment, all taped up, but lacking any distinguishing marks. Unlabeled as if to explain I have no idea how to summarize the contents of it into one word.
In light of recent events, (within the last 6 months)—I’ve really had some eye opening experiences about what is important in life…more importantly: What I WANT out of life. It is not endless scents of perfume, or every pair of jeans “Silver” makes. It’s to be happy. To not fill the void in my heart with meaningless shopping trips that will never come close to accomplishing that goal. I want to start really focusing on the things that make me happy, that don’t include a price tag. Memories that are so special, I need only one small box to keep them in… Yeah, that sounds about right. ~K
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