It always kind of bothers me to see things just
destroyed.
You know what I’m talking
about, the movie where the mad girlfriend throws plates at someone and they
bust against the wall. Or when Hollywood
bashes up a bunch of perfectly good cars or shoots up a wall somewhere, hey, new
drywall is NOT cheap. I get it, but I
don’t have to like it.
But it’s for a different reason that I hate to see people
rip up photos or old love letters.
You’ve all been there or known someone who experienced a bad
and painful breakup. They take to pawing
through old boxes and drawers like a rat terrier puppy building a tunnel to
freedom out of the private fenced yard.
And then it happens. Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrip
rip rip rip rip! *Big sigh* Relief.
Or is it really relief?
I’d like to think that I didn’t make it to 33 years now
without, uh, ok, ok, 43 years now without a few a-ha moments. Most of these come to me while I’m out on a
walk with the dogs or riding my bike but all of them land in my head during
quiet moments of reflection. If you tear
up memories of the past, aren’t you tearing out chapters in the book of your
life? Yes, I think you are. First of all, we all know that we learn best
by experiencing something. The child who
touches the hot stove will not do it again or at least think twice about
it. I think lessons are learned through
our pain and staying something attached to it even in distant memory form is
important.
I’m not saying you should hoard your memories; just know
that keeping them or a few of them is keeping the story of your life
together. Just like learning about
history is a way to keep from repeating it.
That’s what I was always told. I
had teachers in my life who emphasized history as perhaps the most important
subject of the day, of course they all did.
We learn what didn’t work so well for us and what did. Where we are today is because of where we
have been and what we’ve done.
So when you’re thinking you’ll destroy that photo with an
ex, keep it, if you must because that experience made you who are you today. Ta-da, I said it.
I’ll even share a bit some of the things that made me who I
am. I’ll explain why too so you’re not
just thinking I’m crazy, although it’s not like that’s a new adjective for me.
- My divorce. Yes, it’s never supposed to happen but it does and because of it I learned how to set better boundaries.
- The blood clots (9 of them) in my lung. In my early 30s, this taught me that anything can happen to anyone. Don’t think you’re so invincible there little missy. J
- My medical release from the police academy following my diagnosis of the NINE pulmonary emboli, or blood clots. Although devastated at the time, I learned to appreciate the things we’re given. I got to experience and learn police work for about 9 weeks and that is something I’ll never forget.
- ·Leaving radio! Radio had been changing and we’d been in total denial. I'd been a reporter/anchor/storm chaser/producer/editor, on-air personality, morning show co-host and webmaster. It wasn’t the same job anymore and wasn’t the same. Leaving for a better position in another field taught me to accept things. It also gave me a lesson in the fact that you can’t live in the past no matter how many people want it to be so.
- Leaving my comfort zone in a home of 12 years in a nice city to move to the country. I learned that I really don’t need the creature comforts of convenience that I thought I did. Supermarket across the street? Nice, but if you plan right you can drive into a town and get it, it will just take longer. Oh yeah, patience might’ve been in the lesson matrix there somewhere too.
So if you're really adamant about cleaning house at least find something positive to keep.
But in reality, if you’re just a tidy little OCD neat freak and you’re in a frenzy to really get rid of things, by all means, do so. I said my piece about it.
Carry on friends!
~Anne Boswell Taylor
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