Today, it's not about the files. Or the piles. It's about what you should
(and should not) get rid of so you can live in the present.
By Leigh Newman
There is a lot of talk about
decluttering these days. I am in full support of this movement. I am ready and
willing to toss, say, the bank statement from 1976 or the baby bonnet knitted
by an elderly aunt that shrunk to thimble size in the dryer. Stuff is stuff,
and though it may represent memories, though we may cling, clutch and even
smell these objects in order to keep these memories fresh and real to us—they
are still stuff. They are not the actual memories.
This is why dealing with the past itself—especially the not-so-happy past—is so much more difficult. You can't throw it out. You can't give it away. You can't even buy an elegant leather storage container, dump it inside and slap on a sticker that reads in tasteful, graceful cursive: My Lack-of-Self-Esteem Years, 1982–1999.
I wish we could. But the sad truth is, boxing up and refusing to live with any part of your life takes as much energy as gripping it tightly or wishing it could have happened differently. Both approaches take too much work. Think about it: You've either got to keep that feral cat in the bag or live with it loose in the house.
I need a more reasonable, forgiving stance, one that lets me lose some of that less-than-joyful history, and keep some of it too. I don't speak symbolically either. I made an honest-to-God list for all of us out of there struggling with our former selves of what to keep and what to gently, firmly let go of...
To Keep: The Inappropriate Laugh
You have been there, haven't you? In the picturesque meadow or on the mountaintop or at the beach where somebody is about to throw a box of ashes into the flowers/valleys/waves. There have been months of decisions and caretaking that have led to this moment, not to mention the end of the daily making of ice chips and the return of the rented walker. People you detest have lectured you on the importance of an official urn. People you love have gotten into fights over the sale of the house or a pair of tacky candlesticks. The person you have lost is not coming back, and the place where they used to live (your heart) feels like a TV with the screen kicked out of it.
This is when your uncle (who may or may not be a little tipsy) sits down heavily on the boulder beside you on the beach, just before the scattering of the ashes, and splits his ancient wool pants up the derriere. You will laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh. So will he. So will everyone. You will know that the laughter was a little uncontrolled and a little wacko. But you may not dismantle it as fake or cheesy, or some kind of nervous reaction to sadness, and dismiss it hastily. That laugh you have to keep forever. It was real laughter. It was a choice by you and whoever laughed with you—to celebrate instead of judge—while sitting side by side.
To Keep: The Random Person
For the most part, we turn to family or close friends for advice and encouragement. These are the people who know us, after all, and, more importantly, are the people who have to help us (another way to think about this: the people who can't hang up).
It's true that occasionally a taxi driver or waiter will toss off the most insightful, most absolutely needed comment at just the right time. The odds of your hanging out with this waiter or taxi driver for the rest of your days are pretty low, though, if only because taxi drivers and waiters help a lot of strangers though rough times. They can't buddy up long term to us all.
This is why another group of accidental sages exists. These are the people you run into, say, right before a job interview or during a marital separation or during a nerve-wracking trip to the emergency room. They do not belong in the ambulance or at the rehearsal dinner or at the book club meeting, but they are the ones who look at you and say, out of nowhere, with no authority or information, "This too shall pass." Or, "You're making the right decision. It might not feel like it, but I can tell." These people have displayed—in the quickest flash—a strength of character and compassion that you will admire for the rest of your life. These people you must make real, lasting, forever friends with. These people will show you how to live (and how to listen) for the rest of your life.
To Leave Behind: The Story You Tell Yourself
You're a complete disaster when it comes to dancing or eating or even talking in general. You're too loud or too quiet or too tall or too old or too blunt. You're not smart enough or not sexy enough or not risky enough or not fast enough. You never catch on like other people. You ruined the family holiday. You bungled your own marriage. You never loved him in the first place. You'll never love again. You'll never be loved again because love is for other people with smaller hips and larger hearts and a better sense of when to stay and when to leave and who to trust. You're alone. You deserve it. It's all your fault.
These are stories we tell ourselves. In most cases, they are also the stories that were told to us—by our families, by boys, by other girls, by exes and by teachers. Or even by the TV shows we watched, thinking that we would grow up to be TV humans who have jobs where nobody works, who give presents that come perfectly wrapped, and who had boyfriends.
These stories are listed, by title, in a thick, moldy dictionary that we drop on our own heads. They have to go. Now.
Dreaming Big
1.
What do you believe is possible for yourself? If your
answer is "nothing", why do you believe that?
2. Are you wishing or dreaming for something to happen? How can you change your wish to become a dream?
3. Things don't happen overnight. What do you wholeheartedly believe you're meant to do?
4. What is your heart's dream (not material stuff like "a lot of money or a fancy car"?) What truly fulfills you?
4. What are the steps you are taking to live in that purpose? How are you keeping your faith alive?
5. Are you pursuing a life or chasing a dream that isn't yours? If so, what is it?
6. Instead of looking at the road ahead, Pastor Joel Osteen says you sometimes need to look back and be grateful for what you already have. What are you most grateful for? What goodness has been brought into to your life already?
7. Has anyone told you your dream isn’t possible? If you're feeling negative or discouraged, how will you use your energy to believe and not worry?
8. Every time a negative thought comes into your mind, replace it with a positive one. Do this for an entire day. Then, rate your day. Did it feel life changing?
9. Is there an example of when a door closed in your life—and an even better door opened? Can you now see why the first door was closed on purpose?
10. Do you expect good things in your life? What do you expect now, or what will you start expecting?