In eighth grade I had a fight with my best friend (her name was Tracey) and I went home and ripped apart all the notes she had written me and then smashed, with a hammer, the little crystal heart necklace she had given me for my birthday. I remember regretting it almost before doing it because I knew I loved those notes and I knew I loved that necklace, the way you could put the little piece of glass up to your eye and the prism would refract the light and make rainbows everywhere.
I don't think I'm so dramatic or impulsive anymore. Not by contrast. Now I am more practical, perhaps, or just too lazy to smash things.
In opposition to this, there used to be things I held onto interminably because of the memories or the people they represented to me. And this is no longer true of me either. Though I still treasure the memories I no longer hold on to ticket stubs and paper clip engagement rings. I no longer save boxes of letters or cards from thirty three birthdays gone by.
In both respects I have moved closer to centre.
It's another case of seeking balance, for I like my own silly sentimentality, while fighting my packrat instincts as much as possible.
Coming to terms with the past and sorting it out properly, garbage from keepsake, is all part of the process.
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