This box stored some of my smaller objects when I was young. I’m not sure where I got it or what exactly I stored in these boxes. I think it’s supposed to hold jewelry? It’s a large object that I don’t quite value anymore, and yet, I remember it just enough to where I might feel bad putting it in the donation box unceremoniously. Objects like this prevent us from making faster decisions in life.
I think I stored rocks in these boxes.
I have no use for that in my adulthood. I’m surprised I didn’t destroy any of the lids, as I did occasionally, so, besides the missing pieces of cotton, it almost completely survived into adulthood, perhaps because it held no deeper meaning? It was just a box. I’m becoming more comfortable with donating these sorts of objects. What does this represent but some memories of my childhood room?
Do I really need the object if a photograph will suffice?
My weekend away from the apartment-mansion was another reminder that I am weighed down in my physical life by possessions like this that don’t quite represent something powerful, inspirational, or positive. If it doesn’t have any potential for me for anything more than just a weak reminder of childhood, then why should I keep it? Especially if I have another ten months to reduce my possessions down to make the move into a cheaper or proximally-convenient apartment?
I’ll have more time to critically review apartments next year.
This apartment-mansion provided me the valuable shuffle to pack up everything so it’d be easier to be removed from the objects, even temporarily, the burden of moving to reduce the sense of leisurely wanting to keep everything, and the time to assess the objects I want to keep at length. It’s taken me about a month to decide that this object should go. The decision to donate this and other objects like it have made it easier for me to continue making loaded decisions like these with other objects and projects that I might have otherwise similarly put on the backburner.
I won’t be photographing every object like this.
This object just represents an ilk of objects that I once liked, still kind of like, and might have kept in some box taped up for eternity, given unlimited space, but I don’t have that mythically unlimited space, so it’s time to be more decisive. There are only so many more days that I’ll be OK with spending time moving, worrying about the weather, coordinating schedules to move boxes of things I don’t care about. The fewer boxes I move in late January or early February, the better it will be for the move. I’m planning for a one-day, one-truck [or maybe two] move. If that means donating objects with minimal value or memory-retention to me, then I’m OK with that.
The alternative is continually being distracted by objects around the apartment-mansion without many purposes and inconsistently noisy neighbors outside the apartment.
|Sources: My personal experiences.|
|Inspirations: Considering objects that perhaps once had value but now are nothing more than interferences in my life. It might be nicer to have most of these objects out of my life immediately, but saying goodbye like this can help me close the books in a way where I won’t have to worry about the memories resurfacing with regret and longing. It’s in a box bound for a better home or at least somewhere where it could be reused, rather than here, where it won’t be used again.|
|Related: Other Downsizing Zeal essays.|
|Photo: Some storage box.|
|Written On: May 13th [45 minutes]|
|Last Edited: First draft; final draft for the Internet.|