Things We Keep

We all have some.  Those things we can't seem to throw away.  The things that hang around year after year.  The things we keep.  Most of us that have lived for decades have gone through many downsizes.  As we age, we continue to downsize.  Furniture, books, records and CDs, clothing, photos, recreational gear.  But some things remain.  The things we keep.  The things we can't seem to move along or break free from, or even just toss.
Of course, there are reasons some of these objects can't seem to find their way to a Goodwill, classified ad, or even a trash can.  From those objects, I submit, we can learn a good deal about ourselves and why we keep hanging on to some things.

One reason might be that some personal objects like letters, journals, and photos just can't be thoroughly destroyed.  Unless we have a fireplace, it's often difficult to find a satisfying way to rid ourselves of these burdens.  We have to talk ourselves into believing that no harm can come in liberating ourselves and our survivors from these hard-held possessions if we let the local trash collector take them away in garbage bags.  Do people really traipse through the dump reading journals from 1983?  Do they gather up your old family photos? Is the danger we attribute to just trashing some things real?
A compromise might be to photograph some things and then digitize them by putting them all on a thumb drive.  Think of the space that would save.
Some things I've moved on defy that.  For about 15 years I owned an old jukebox.  A real beaut, it played 78 records and lit up like an Art Deco Christmas tree.  I moved it a few times and then decided, no more.  That 1946 Rockola jukebox went to a good home with a collector but I still can enjoy my memories by listening t a few of the records it often played or looking at a few of the photos that remain.  No so with more personal items.
The items of real concern are usually tied with emotion to specific people or events.  I have a few photos of trips I have taken with people who were close to me at the time.  I even have saved a scarf and various handwritten notes.  A night 45 years ago and the first inklings of budding relationships lie preserved in small boxes.  I want to rid myself of these things, but gently.  A fire would be satisfying and symbolic, but just not possible.  So what could be done? If I do nothing then all will be dismissed with no meaning.  Maybe that's OK, but I'd prefer to have a hand in the great letting go.  For any benefit, I must act.