Not a Saver

AKA: Stories from my childhood

I've never been a saver of things.

I'm mostly petrified by reality hoarding shows. I mean, I watch them in a crazy gawking kind of way and then revel in their truth as I try to understand it.

You can't throw away 3 nail polishes you've never used?

You have 150 balls of wool and don't know how to knit, but you want to hold onto it because you might someday.

3 pairs of rollerblades you absolutely can't part with, even though the idea of putting them on creates anxiety on a Fujita scale EF-5?

Do you have multiple plastic containers cascading from every corner of your kitchen cabinets because you think you’ll need them sometime? I kind of get that one, because you don't want it to go into a landfill.

But all those clothes you never wear and can't release, someone else could wear them.

And the appliances—oh, so many appliances—could be sold effortlessly on Craigslist or given away on the FB marketplace.

No. Savers are a different breed than me.

I will toss things away without a care.

Christmas cards. Read. Recycle. Repeat. For December.

I haven't worn it in 6 months. Pass it on to my little sister Ashley.

My iPhone jammed up with storage from all my photos and videos. Do a complete 'select all' and delete.

Here's the thing, though: the stuff I save is really big, meaningful, and important.

A few years ago, my sister got together with the fam for my dad's birthday and bought him a year on this awesome website called Storyworth. It prompted him to write pieces about his life; all of us engaged could ask him to answer questions.

One night a Storyworth question came through my email with my dads’s response.

Were you involved in any organizations in high school?

I was involved with the High School Band and Choir all through jr and sr high which were well organized by Ronald Q Johnson our leader and director. I belonged to the science club which was led by our teacher Willy Anderson and was active in science fair project competitions. I remember going to an introductory meeting for the Boy Scouts at the Creamery building and getting sick from chocolate milk they served. I never went back.

When I read the email, a flood of memories came to me. To be real with you, I don't have many fond memories of my childhood. A lot of yucky stuff went down, and though I've healed it, I haven't saved it. I'm better for it, but I don't need the reminder hanging around if you know what I mean.

However, reading about my dad's participation in science fair projects sparked my 40-something self into remembering when I was in 7th grade, and my dad helped me Ace my science project. It wasn't above board, mainly because I falsified my data, but it was a HAPPY MEMORY.

Happy memories from childhood don't come by my doorstep often.

And me, I'm not a saver. I throw everything away. Yet I went directly to my back hall closet and pulled a cute plastic box from my top shelf (it was easy to find; I don't have much in there). I opened it up and, within one minute, found Polaroids of said science project.

I wrote this back to my dad on the Storyworth website.

Omgoodness. This makes so much sense to me now. Remember when you helped me make my hamster maze for my 7th grade science project? It was the best maze ever and I was supposed to run the hamsters through it daily and document their learning.

Only I procrastinated and ended up falsifying most of my “lab experiments” on paper. And then one of the hamsters actually ate another one so I went to the Science show with 2 hamsters instead of 3. But with the cool maze you made and the made up lab experiments, I totally got an A+ . Prolly the only time I ever got an A in science. I love you. I love that you made that maze for me. We worked so hard on it together and you had all the good ideas to make it happen. It’s a really happy memory from my youth. You’re so creative!!!!

Here's what I learned from this. If you're not a saver like me, maybe you can learn something from it, too.

The things I hold onto are precious. They mean the world to me. I won't let them go, and I know where they live and can find them at a moment's notice. I thought I didn't have happy memories of my childhood, and during one of my most challenging years (7th grade), I found a treasured and happy memory that I had saved in a cute plastic box. But I saved it.

I've let go of many things that were hard for me when I was young. I released a lot of suffering and forgave more people than you'd want to imagine who hurt the young girl I was.

It might be a small side effect for me. Not holding onto things. I don't hold onto much these days. I learned the hard way holding on hurts. So now. I let that shit go. Whatever it is.

And yet.

I love this knowing. I do hold onto the things that really matter—the happy things I keep. They live in my home, on my art wall, on my bookcase, in my closet, in that cute plastic box, but mostly all over my heart.