There is certain melancholy mist that can settled upon as I go through the  boxes left over from my last year.  The new place wasn’t as accommodating as I hoped nor did the bookshelves appear to replace the ones which didn’t survive the stress of a crosstown move.  You know the kind of move where you enlisted friends with large vehicles as well as those that will work for pizza. Then there is the fact, I can no longer move heavy boxes without hurting myself.  (Thank you, Hit & Run Driver)

The mist isn’t caused any of these bits of logic, it caused  by the memories held in those boxes.  It descended this time when I uncovered an admission ticket to the Orlando Museum of Art from 2008; faded and bent.  The memory of that day isn’t a sad one, just a reminder of someone lost and then found like the ticket itself. Neither were in the same condition I remembered. The person is far better that he was back then.

I didn’t toss it out, I couldn’t.

There are other hidden memories waiting in more boxes.  Those won’t be erased by unpacking, besides there is no place for the stuff to go.  It is time to do some serious cleansing and toss out the junk.  I need to cleanse my mind of those negative habits and emotions which have weighed me down. The memories will remain, but their tangible weight; it must go. Physically, I can’t bear their weight any more; emotional, well we have covered.

The memories, themselves, aren’t truly good or bad, they are merely connection between synapses.  They simply just exist. It is my reaction and the emotion with which they were saved that gives them power.

The melancholy which descended upon me today has nearly dissipated. Action like the sun has burned it away; at least for moment.  The pile of stuff by the door ready to go off to good-will and new hands is one more step in the cleansing process.  A step in the right direction.