I’d finally decided to give up on the keys, but not my “clutter-clearance” mission. I called a locksmith, had the lock cut off the storage unit and purchased a new lock. Determined not to repeat my mistakes, I put one of the keys on my key ring (I am a minimalist when it comes to keys and key rings, so this is a huge deal) and gave one to my mom for safe keeping. She’s so much more responsible than I am… the only thing she ever loses are her glasses (How does that work?) and she’s used to keeping up with me and my crap.
I stood in the doorway of the unit and surveyed the damage. I wondered just how much money I’d really spent on all this stuff – stuff that wouldn’t mean a hill of beans if lost tomorrow. I shook my head and began sorting around in bins and boxes trying to see what I’d collected. I honestly couldn’t remember anymore. The focus of this visit was going to be clothes, shoes and accessories. The big church yard sale was coming up and I’d made up my mind that I was paring down my owning if it killed me. It was important that for this next phase in my life, I was ready to take on all of my dreams and I didn’t want all this crap weighing down my progress.
On the 35th anniversary of my birth (so fancy!!) my biological clock turned on – more like a four alarm fire. I’ve been obsessed ever since. Now at 37 years of age I was finally ready (not really, but moving on anyway) to take the next steps. I was going to do what I needed to do to have the family I wanted. And to do this , at least in my mind, I needed to get all the extraneous things out of my life and be reborn into a much more together adult. Silly, right? Not for me. I am the ultimate control freak. I worked 60+ hour weeks, hardly took vacations and amassed a storage unit of shit and 50 extra pounds. I don’t call that being an adult – I call that being a robot. I want to become a person that understand the value of things in the context of my wellbeing, not just instant gratification of a lonely and boring life.
I found that person in sorting through my junk. Piles of clothes for the yard sale. Pairs of shoes that could be donated to charity. With every bin and box I sorted through, I felt lighter and lighter, closer to the person I wanted to raise the kids I wanted. Oh, and I found those damned keys!