I could tell you stories all day with the items in my house.
My house is littered with memories from my kitchen to the bathroom to my art studio. Very rarely do I find myself in a store buying decorative pieces for my house. If I am there, it’s simply because I needed something for something. A shelf to hold books, or a basket to hold supplies, whatever I am buying, it has some other purpose.
Most of the items in my house are so sentimental that it is hard for me to part with them. When I must finally say goodbye to an item, I find it easier if the item breaks. Now, I’m not hoping things break but if they do, I hold it in my hands, think about the memory, and say to myself, I will remember you in the condition you were in than this new one. For me, I will focus on the broken pieces and not on what the item meant so I never repair something if the repairs will be visible.
So, in the trash you go. It’s easier to let go of broken items than to try and make them whole again.
Memories of the past.
This is about memories and like I said no matter which room of mine you’re in, you will find tons of them. What sparked this post is that while I sit in my art studio for my 9-5, I find myself staring at all the things I have collected specifically for this room. It contains all my “me memories.” Much like some people have a wall of me in their offices, I have an entire room. This room contains some of the happiest, funniest, hardest, saddest, and most interesting stories about me.
I have my proudest moments like my military awards and my college diplomas here. I have some personal photos of moments I shared with my deceased family. My collection of art; things I have painted, things I have bought, and things I have traded with people who inspired me. Each piece has a story, a memory, something so important that I didn’t want to go a day without remembering. Everything in this room serves a purpose. So, what happens when I no longer need it?
What’s the story here?
Well, this is the story here. When I was a teenager in the 90s, I didn’t think most people expected me to succeed in much. I never had teachers who inspired me to do great things, my parents—provided what they needed—they kept to themselves, and my friends, well I can’t say they provided much inspiration. I kept my long-term goals simple and easy to achieve. Go to college, get married, and have kids.
Later in life, I found that these goals were harder than I expected. I got married, that turned out to be one of the worst decisions I ever made. For me to go to college, I had to figure out a way to pay for it. Remember, no teachers and parents kept to themselves. I needed to figure this out on my own. Join the military, get the GI Bill, and pay for school, eight years later, I finally had enough in savings to go to school. My marriage… well enough about that. Everything does happen for a reason.
One Thing led to Another.
Anyway, after six years of college, I finally have my degree. Yes, college should only take four and it did. I just did two years of one thing and then switched so I basically started over. Also, running out of money at that time gave me the fondest memories of not being able to pay for my last semester of school and keep the heat in my house above 40 degrees. Oh, the things you will do for pride.
The last goal is and was the hardest. I can also say that I will never reach it. Sure, I can adopt but that isn’t the same; it was about giving birth. Having children was something I waited to do. Find that perfect person to have a life with and kids. I didn’t just want to have kids with whoever just so I could have kids. It was about wanting more than what I had and what I was seeing with the people I had encountered in my life. It was this perfect blend of them being there for their kids and not being there, so the kids had a chance to figure it out on their own. I wanted to find someone who was going to understand the importance of what I had and provide what I didn’t have for my kids.
Decisions that I had not control over.
It happened, sadly, too late. I found that person and as luck would have it, I am now too old to have kids; unsure I was even ever able to have kids. What does all this have to do with the memories in my house? A lot, I have no one to tell these stories to, no one who will cherish their time with me, no one who will want to put some of these memories in their house. What will happen to all my memories? I imagine some will find their way to thrift stores and yard sales. My art, maybe when that time comes, I will be famous. Then it goes to auction where the love of my life can use it to do something great. Or it all ends up in the trash!
So going back to my earlier statement about it’s easier if the item breaks and I can just throw it away. I know where it ends up. I got one last chance to enjoy the memory and now someone else doesn’t have to make that decision for me. The important piece is that I got to enjoy it one last time on my own terms. That there reminds me of my mother. Being able to enjoy something one last time on my own terms.