I have at least four boxes of journals that I recently moved with me to North Carolina. I have traveled with some of them as long as twenty years. They have gone everywhere with me excepting the year that I was in London- for that adventure they stayed in my mother’s shed.They are heavy and every time that I go to move them I wonder should I just burn them all? I can’t imagine just throwing them away… but what I can picture is a bonfire of sorts with the last twenty some years going up in flames.
So this time was in fact no different… I looked at them and thought… what if… but I moved them and now they are here with me in another house and I am looking at them wondering how long I will continue to cart them around. The flames are enticing.
Every now and then I look through them paging through distant lifetimes and memorabilia and during those times I often have mixed feelings about them. It is lovely to travel down that road… sometimes… but other times it simply drags me down with the weight of it all.
By nature I don’t like getting rid of things. I feel that I will come to regret the decision- so I cling to what I have. On the other hand the last several years have taught me to let go, but the journals are still around. How important is it to collect these memories? My rambling words, letters and cards from people who have come in and out of my life… how important is it to keep them in a tangible, touchable form?
For now, I don’t have an answer… so with all my other baggage I suppose that I will continue to cart them around.