Junk. I have so much junk. A lot of it is easy to part with, but some of it is personal stuff and I stop and think, “Oh, I should keep this.” But then I think, “For what? What good does it do me now? What good will it do when I’m gone? Who’s going to want this after I’m dead? It won’t mean anything.”
I mean, it’s not like I’m going to write Beethoven’s Ninth or anything. There won’t be a cottage industry in things I owned and people won’t be trying to find my burial site. I’m not a primate, baby, I’m a dinosaur. No evolutionary improvements are going to come soaring from my bones, that’s for sure.
And in my head I’m hearing the song, “The rocks, in time, compress your blood to oil, your flesh to coal. Enrich the soil, not everybody’s goal.”
Your musings have made me think about the boxes in my garage that have sat sealed since I moved them there in 1999. I keep telling myself that one day I’ll open them and it will seem to be the best Christmas ever. At this point, I can’t even remember what is in those boxes. I know intellectually that if I haven’t looked for something contained within by now, I probably don’t need to keep them. Perhaps I’m keeping them sealed to keep my memories of a life long ago safe and unforgotten. My own personal time capsule.
Comments are closed.