Life's Souvenirs

Last week I tore old college posters off my bedroom walls. I packed away birthday cards and postcards, and cleared away the dust that settled on my handmade ceramic bowls. Dried flower pollen and clay particles mixed in a cloud around me and made me sneeze. All there was left to do was to open up a window and let the fresh air in.

The previously adorned walls were now empty, worn, with marks of double-sided tape reminding me of what once was. I stared at these hollowed spaces without nostalgia, only indifference and uncertainty of what they would become. I carried my old paintings to the basement, and organized my newer work. I cleared the space for new ideas, and began to question why had all this decoration been so hard to overcome.

At some point, after many years, my photos, maps, and posters became engrained into an identity I had long-ago formed for myself. I thought I could never part with objects that became so close to me, they were like extensions of my body. Each object carried a sentiment with it. Each one had a story, I did not dare to move out of place. Yet, after months and months of gathering dust, I decided it was time for change.

I had changed, at least somewhat, after all. If my room were to be a true reflection of who I would become, I had to gather only what was still relevant, and continue to build forward. I was constantly traveling back in time, to a version of myself I could not yet say good-bye to. In the momentary chaos, instability, and grief, over things that did not go as planned, I felt like I could never leave anything behind, without losing myself too.

As the thoughts began to surface, I realized that although they felt very true to how I felt, they were in fact somewhat irrational. The fact is, I had once assigned immeasurable value to my dream schools, my idols, and singular achievements, so each artifact that I obtained was a symbol of an idealized life I had hoped to live. When the time finally came to change my mind, to move past the tunnel vision of an accepted belief, these objects felt like anchors that held me in my past. Having given so much of me to this objectifying way of life–of labels, titles, and singular plans–my growth was limited to what fit the past and present decor.

Despite putting so much value into the material world, I decided sometimes the best thing to move o

n, is to let go. If we are to evolve, change, and grow, we have to be willing to redecorate our space both physically and within, to not get lost in hoarded artifacts of our past lives. So in the next month or so, I might roll out a fresh coat paint, and revive the vast space anew, to make room for sights my past could never see through its fixed, one-sided view.