Hi {{ subscriber.firstName | default('Friends') }},
It’s good to be back. Today feels like a Friends reunion. Did you watch? I did. And I cried. Nostalgia, memories, that’s what they do to me. Because of our recent move, I’ve been forced to skip a few months, rifling through twenty-one years of stuff. It’s astonishing what we collect over time. The objects we savor, unable to let go.
Coincidentally, my husband is sitting next to me listening to the Hidden Brain podcast: Why We Hold On To Things. Did you know “there are more storage units in the United States than Starbucks or McDonald's?” This doesn't surprise me, having witnessed the amount of “junk” I had collected in my own storage unit.
I have my ideas on why we hold on to things, but you can listen to the podcast for the expert opinion. I'll leave you with this. When deciding what to save or let go, think about your loved ones or next of kin going through your belongings. For some, it's hard to consider, but you should. When I imagined my adult children picking through my boxes, posing the questions: Would they want this? Would they care? When I looked at my things from this perspective, it made it a lot easier to let go.
During this time, writing was impossible, my mind cluttered with the past. I was antsy, frustrated with the absence of creating. Now that the move is behind us, all the memories and things in the right place, I recognize the ebb and flow of this business, the blocks that can frustrate and paralyze, but in the end, the stall was a gift.
I often preach how everything happens for a reason. You may not see it while you’re going through it, but with some distance and hindsight, clarity appears. Clarity came to me in the form of acceptance. Accepting that my writing would be on hold while I tackled this project. Little did I know at the time, but the boxes of personal effects, the letters and cards my mother wrote me over the years, the boys’ kindergarten journals, the love letters from my husband (and even from some ex-boyfriends), as well as the pictures and yearbooks and concert ticket stubs, would be seeds for new stories and plots. Instead of looking at the task in front of me as lost time, it became a treasure trove of inspiration. AND I AM INSPIRED!
So after dropping off our remaining stuff at the new place in Miami, we drove the thirteen hours to North Carolina, where most of you know is my happy place. I’ve gathered the threads from the last few months, the hellos and goodbyes, the weighty decisions, the bittersweet emotions, and let’s not forget that Saturday afternoon at the mall, and I’m turning them into pieces of bigger stories. And you know what? They all fit.
