Souvenirs and Storage Rooms

This past weekend, I spent a lot of time cleaning out my storage room. Tucked away behind a non-descript door in my basement, was a large room littered with boxes, knick-knacks, and pretty much everything you’d think a storage closet would have. You name it, I’ve got it. Probably a dozen of them. All from 1990. Mounds of tape cassettes (I kept the Def Leppard tape) and Sony Walkmans. Reams of personalized office stationary. Green and blue rugby shirts. Old bottles of wine that have long since turned into vinegar. And boxes of law school notes and papers that quite frankly, I don’t ever want to see again.

I also ran across a lot of memories, as I expected. Old job offer letters, diplomas and bar certifications commemorating where I’ve been and showing the potential I had. Boxes of email. Old sentimental items too. Gifts. Notes. Commonplace things that brought back vivid stories when the world didn’t look quite so complicated. I found myself wanting to hold on to most of it, rationalizing why I’d need my old law school term paper on cyberbanking and the future of electronic commerce. Or trying to figure out why I could care so much about an old set of ticket stubs. I spent most of the night grasping each piece in my hand and attempting to divine its meaning, remembering why it was I kept it in the first place.

In then end though, I think these kinds of souvenirs are deceptive. They are dangerous because they speak to you in present tense. They tell you what once was, in the freshest and most brutal detail. They take you back to the moment, and confuse what you had with what you have. And their stories come across with powerful and staggering clarity. If you’re not careful, you’d almost be fooled into thinking that they still convey real feeling. Truth is, it’s hard to let them go.

But as much as I am tempted to keep my eyes closed, I remember that I am no longer in the business of holding onto old memories. So I’ve packed my old letters away. I’ve bundled up all of the email. And I’ve pitched most of the souvenirs. I’ve done it for the sake of the future, and for the sake of getting over the past. And as I sat down, tired from hauling everything upstairs and out of my house, I realized that there is no clearer sign that I am moving into a different phase of my life, than the huge pile of trash sitting outside my house on the curb.

It doesn’t mean I won’t miss what I’ve thrown away from time to time. Truth be told, I’m tempted to go back now before the trash collectors come tomorrow morning and root through it all one last time. But in the empty space of my storage room, new things are coming. New old memories. Dusty keepsakes as old as my fourth-grade basketball trophy and all of my swimming ribbons. And those memories...those memories are the souvenirs that I’ll hang on to.