[Downsizing Zeal] Meant Something Once

Somewhere between the concert where I acquired this piece of shiny plastic – maybe at the Marilyn Manson show, or maybe a Sabaton show – and its final resting place, in this pile of garbage, grimed by months spent in a greasy box full of dirty tools and assorted items from deep in my old basement, I lost this confetto’s meaning. If only I’d tucked it away in some album or attached a note, right? Probably not…

How strongly does this object have tied to any memories?

The most I remember about it is maybe picking it up at the Showbox at the Market, probably as part of a confetti-bombed interlude during some set at a show. I don’t remember much else, whether the show was good, or if there was anything even noteworthy about that confetti other than just being a prop during a show. I probably picked it up because it had some kind of memorable event tied to it, but as it goes after seeing myriad more shows after that, those memories get lost in the tides of thoughts.

Before, I would have kept this object.

Now, I see it for the junk it is. It has this dirt or grease on it that makes it unappealing, it’s crinkled, and if I wanted more confetti, I’m sure I could get one or thousands more in any variation I’d like, which would have been necessary thought explorations before I’d part with anything even remotely similar to this confetto. Now, if it doesn’t have a strong aesthetic, nostalgic, or utilitarian use for me, away it goes. I don’t want to to keep objects, and have them weigh me down, because they might have once meant something to me.

I’ll keep the noteworthy positive memories.

That way, when I move next year, I’ll be surrounded by things that invigorate me. I’ll have memories of major achievements, of positive events, and of overcoming difficult situations. If I eventually remember what memory this confetto held, maybe once I scroll through this essay upon publication or months later, then memory has an interesting thing of reattaching to new objects – whether physical like maybe a CD, or something more, like this essay itself. I almost sacrificed too much space and energy for subpar memories like this.

Did it ever invigorate me?

If the object doesn’t take me back to a specific concert, where I felt more alive than I could have ever comprehended, why keep it? Because it was some shiny that amused me once? This was just a slip of plastic, but this analogy applies to everything.

I donated a larger item today, this rower, that had some nostalgia and utility associated with it, but it was too cumbersome to be worth the nostalgia or utility. It took a few weeks to decide if I wanted to get rid of it. I put it in my trunk yesterday and today it became too much of a nuisance to keep.

Same downsizing process for both objects.

Quotes: None.
Sources: My personal experiences.
Inspirations: The title popped into my head this afternoon, and I thought of writing this essay emulating a certain popular modern author’s flowery speech – I have yet to read any of their materials – where they say nothing yet they say it eloquently. I’m not sure why that combo entered my head. I may write a lot of useless things, but I always have a purpose behind those words. The words for me are more a vehicle to arrive at a destination rather than the flowers to smell along the road to the destination. Here, the intention was to explore how both the confetto and rower once meant something to me but due to circumstances outside of their control, led to them being thrown away and donated, respectively.
Related: Other Downsizing Zeal essays.
Photo: Least disgusting shot of my trash. Thanks, buddies, for tolerating such ornate obstructions.
Written On: April 23rd [25 minutes]
Last Edited: First draft; final draft for the Internet.
My big goal is writing. My most important goal is writing "The Story." All other goals should work toward that central goal. My proudest moment is the most recent time I overcame some fear, which should have been today. I'm a better zombie than I was yesterday. I'm not better than you and you're not better than me. Let's strive to be better every day.