Closet Cleaning and Nostalgia

     It's funny how coincidences work.
    This afternoon, I was listening to one of my favorite songs by Eminem, "Cleanin Out My Closet". It's a song about Eminem and the relationship with his Mom, which doesn't seem to be a good one. Anyway, I was lounging about, listening to this epic song, when I was given an announcment.
    A few weeks ago, a charity company called saying that they were having a clothing drive, and to please leave trashbags stuffed with clothes at the end of the driveway. The charity truck would then pick up the trash bags and give the articles inside to ids who couldn't afford clothing. After awhile of procrastinating, I finally decided that today was the day to clean out my closet. 
   "I'm sorry Mama,
    I never meant to hurt you,
    I never mean to make you cry,
    But tonight,
    I'm cleaning out my closet,"
    Like Eminem, I was finally cleaning out my closet. The one difference between him and I, though, is that while he's doing this perhaps to make his Mama cry, I did it to make my Mama proud. With a heavy sigh, I trudged over to my room and flung open the closet door.
    You probably have an image of a dark, dank, messy closet in your mind. Well, I will tell you right now that you are utterly and completely wrong. My closet is brightly lit, neat, and organized. It also smells quite nice, if you ask me. The reason why I was reluctant to complete this task of going through my stuff, though, is that there is simply so much stuff to go through.
    Imagine about 7 year's worth of clothing in one closet. That means that there are a bunch of things I never wore, wore to pieces, haven't been able to fit into for years, and I am still waiting to grow into. Biting back a complaint, I reminded myself that I was doing this for the betterment of other people, and I ought to not be complaining. With a deep breath, I began my work.
    I started grabbing anything and everything that didn't fit, I didn't like, or had holes in it in the giant white hefty trash bag I had dragged up the stairs. I tried to go through this task as quick as possible, silently praying that it wouldn't take too long. I had been in the middle of doing nothing, and to be honest, I wanted to get back to doing it as soon as possible.
    I know, I know. I sound like some bratty rich kid. I guess in the end, everyone is. But you'll be happy to know that I tossed that nagging little voice out of my head and just plowed on. I had a one-way tunnel of focus. Nothing was going to break my stride. At this rate, I'd be done in 10 minutes.
    And then nostalgia set in.
    I found, shoved in the back of my closet, about 3-4 dresses I wore when I was about 6 years old. I pick them up, and childhood memories started pouring in. Jumping around in the garden. Getting stung by a bee. Valiantly disobeying time-out rules. It all came coming back. All of the sudden, I became a weepy, sentimental wreck. 
    I took a deep breath and began to toss the dresses in the pile. I had to let them go. They didn't fit me anymore. i didn't need them. But all those memories...Stop it. You don't need these dresses. But I want to keep them. No you don't. Yes I do. No. Yes. No. Yes.
    For about 20 minutes I debated keeping a piece of my childhood with me, or giving it up to a child who needed it. The deciding factor is when I thought of all of those hoarders. Is this how they started? By not being able to let go of a dress? WIth that, I tossed half of the dresses into a pile and kept the other half in the closet.
    Ah, childhood. It was so sweet, so pure, so ignorant. I do miss it. I miss the way I looked at things with a completely open heart, and how I would get so excited that Santa was going to be in my house one special night of the year. How I believed that the Easter Bunny had hid all of those eggs I found in the back yard. I haven't yet learned to let go of all of these special, cherished times and fully embraced the next stage of my life.
    Maybe one day I'll learn to let go.
    But something inside me hopes and prays that I never will.

PS: I apologize that a well intended blog post turned as soppy as it did. In my first post, I said that I hate sappy stuff. This clearly proves my theory that I'm a hypocrite. Hopefully, these weepy and sentimental posts will be far and in between.
 


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