carving

While I was at my mom’s house for Christmas, I took a day to perform the semi-regular ritual of sorting through my remaining boxes in the basement. There were more than I’d remembered, now living in a 220sq ft studio apartment, despite how many attempts I’ve made over the years at reducing my possessions. On previous minimalistic tears, I’ve culled, parsed, and pared down my belongings drastically from what they were ten years ago, each time making piles for trash, recycling, and donations, like a tithe to the household gods. I’ve always liked the idea of traveling light, of owning only useful things, and only what I can carry with me. I once thought about floating noncommittally around the country (who hasn’t?), packing my life up into a few bags and boxes, always ready to cut and run at a moment’s notice.

But as I dug into the boxes in my mom’s basement, I rediscovered the few things I haven’t managed to throw out or give away, despite my best efforts. I found a dress someone (I don’t know who) neatly crocheted for one of my dolls when I was a child. I found a hand-sewn bag and a Bible cover my mom made, and the Bible for which they had been meant with a note in the front cover saying “Merry Christmas! from Mommy and Daddy December 1997.” I found things which had belonged to my grandparents, things which had been given to me by old friends, notes, papers, pictures, and the last vestiges of my younger self.

I sifted through assorted bits of things, wondering what to do with the fact that the person I am now doesn’t value everything that the person who saved these things did. Can I throw things away if I don’t want them now, but did in the past? Can I give things away if someone meant for me to have them, and hoped I would find them amusing or useful or an expression of love – but I don’t want them?

I suppose that it’s alright if things had their time and place. Maybe my younger self valued Star Wars action figures and Barbies, but that doesn’t mean I have to hold the same values that I did when I was twelve.

So I tell myself, anyway, with a silent apology to my past as I put once-valued possessions in the donation box.

Some of the more interesting things I uncovered were art projects from my college years (although I majored in graphic design, my heart wasn’t in it, and I took a consolation minor in studio art). Two of the pieces from sculpture class were a round wooden shield carved in rings of knotwork (it’s easy to tell when I ran out of patience), and a Celtic cloak pin in bronze, without the pin (also where I ran out of patience). I also found a hand-bound journal which I took on a study abroad trip to France, in which I made sketches alongside my French homework. Despite all the changes in the past ten years, some things haven’t changed.