I was on the floor of the kitchen cleaning out the very back on the cupboard when a switch flipped in my brain. I've been telling myself I am not my things and if I toss something with sentimental value it doesn't toss the memory just the thing. It's something I struggle with as a collector of art and books, I could easily grow a hoard of curiosities as large as a car pretty quickly, in fact right this minute there's a 12 foot light up stuffed jellyfish sculpture in my basement, but I digress. So, I'm on the floor with paper towels and a vacuum after months of telling myself "I am not my things" and I'm throwing out old lunch boxes and cake mixes that we'll never make and my brain says:
"I'm no longer the caretaker of these things... My things should care-take me."
And then in this 45th year of my life... I had to come write it down.
via GIPHY
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