I’ve moved house seven times in the last 20 years. Each time, I sort through my possessions and donate boxes of items to charity stores or loved ones.
I’m a great friend to have when anyone else is packing to move. I can be brutal with things that don’t belong to me.
So, pray tell, why have I been lugging a huge blank canvas around with me from home to home for the last 10 years?
Let’s not even talk about my collection of chipped teacups, or the lid-less sugar bowls that I swear will become the cutest plant pots for succulents. Or the historic collection of burnt-out technology in my bottom drawer.
Right now, in my wardrobe, I have two gorgeous, expensive skirts — that are two sizes too big for me. I have no intention of putting the weight back on, and I know I’m never going to have them tailored to fit.
So why am I holding onto them? Because they’re expensive? And gorgeous? I should sell them, but that feels like a lot of bother.
It seems strange when I think about it. I have a blind spot when it comes to certain items, things that don’t really serve me anymore. Dare I say that applies to people and situations, too?
I once stayed in a job for much too long, until it reached a point where we were both relieved to be parting.
I’ve pined over lost loves, looking them up on social media, my finger hovering over the “follow” button.
Sometime in my late teens or early 20s, a friend came over to stage an intervention. A spring cleaning.
I was very open to throwing away and donating piles and piles of things. Well, except for this weird painted bird sculpture.
She asked me why I was keeping it. As I explained the story of the bird, it became clear this was a piece of trash I’d been holding onto from primary school.
I’d modelled the bird out of clay in art class. It was supposed to be a swan. I was off sick on the day the birds were painted and fired, so someone else had painted my bird. Badly.
Even worse, its neck had been broken and glued back on. And yet, I still couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.
I left my friend alone in my bedroom with a rubbish bag. I said I didn’t want to know what happened to the swan.
In my 30s, I moved in with my then-partner. While unpacking and mingling our possessions, he asked why I hadn’t thrown away a very warped breadboard.
I was horrified. It had belonged to my granny. It was a strange thing to be sentimental about, but it brought back memories of my granny making me tomato sandwiches. I don’t know if she even used that board, but still.
I think it’s okay to be sentimental about things. And who knows when you might need them again?
But I have to be honest. I keep tripping over a broken computer monitor while stuffing the clothes I wear into the wardrobe, in between the clothes I don’t.
It’s spring. The season of change and fresh beginnings. Anyone know anyone who might have a use for a big blank canvas? Aside from me, of course.
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