The Courage to Say Goodbye

As I mentioned in the previous post, even after the movers had driven away with the last of our furnishings, there still remained such a huge quantity of junk cherished possessions, that I had no idea what to do with. As I faced the task of boxing it all and hauling it bit by bit to the new house (and then finding places for it all), I suddenly found a new courage welling up inside of me. Courage to finally part with things for one reason or another, I've been hanging onto for years:

1. About 10 pairs of size 4-6 pre-baby jeans. I've nurtured the hope for the past 6+ years that someday I would finally regain my girlish figure and be able to wear "small" clothes again. Get real, girlfriend. Even if I lost 20 pounds, this derriere will NEVER be a size 4 again. And besides, styles have changed. Even IF I ever managed to squeeze myself into those threads, I'd probably be embarrassed to be seen in them.
   
2. The last of the baby bottles lurking in the back of my cupboards. I have no desire to ever experience pregnancy again, but somewhere in my subconscious has lurked the secret hope that some desperate teenage mom anxious to give her new baby a better life would drop off the child on my front porch. Call me nuts (I probably am), but I've nurtured this fantasy for a long time. I'm finally coming to terms with reality. It pains me greatly to admit it, but there is probably a greater chance that Elvis will come knocking at my door.
   
3. My Olympus 35 mm camera which dates back to my college days in the late 80's. That camera was with me the day a hailstorm shut down Monroe, Louisiana, and broke through a skylight just outside my dorm room in Cosper Hall. It was with me through several years as a newspaper reporter, faithfully recording the events of life in my central Arkansas hometown. And it has been with me through more than a decade of marriage and childrearing. It's been a trusted friend, and I hate to say goodbye, but since the purchase of our first digital camera in 2002, paying good money for film and processing just seems foolish.
   

The list could go on for several more paragraphs. When we drove away from our old house, there was a collection of stuff on our driveway for the Salvation Army that probably took them two trucks to haul away. And as we unpack here at the new place, I'm collecting even more to send their way. Getting rid of all this stuff has somehow made me feel lighter. A whole lot lighter.

Hey, maybe I want those jeans back after all.