Everyone has a junk drawer. I seem to have a junk room. At one time, it was a second bedroom. Then it was my office. Now it’s a storage room — for junk. Well, not all of it is junk.
It’s a mess. Boxes of papers that need to be destroyed (I had no idea I only need to keep important things for 7 seven years), boxes of books that I’m loathe to get rid of, boxes of memories – 26 years of marriage will do that. Clothes that should have made it to the Women’s Shelter eons ago or just tossed. Junk.
I have been working on getting this junk room cleaned up so I can make it my retreat. I can only do it in spurts – there is so much that its overwhelming. It’s a mess and its a reflection of how much of a mess my own life is. A mess of my own making.
I was working on the room this weekend. In opening boxes, I found parts of me that have been stashed away for years. Tons of design books – real interior design tools, graphic design books and tools. Things that I truly loved doing, that I don’t really do much now. I found spiritual books from a path that I wandered off of and only now vaguely remember how to get back to (and I am trying). Writing books – journals, tools to help me articulate myself in a clearer voice (trying to get back to that as well). It made me sad.
I found memories stashed away in a jewelry box that my husband made for me during our first years of marriage (it is a work of art this jewelry box). Pictures, souvenirs, a time when things were fresh and new. It made me sad.
Somehow, somewhere over all these years, I’ve lost myself. I’ve put myself aside. I’ve made myself small and that makes me sad.
I can’t say it was because I was raising children – we have none. I can’t put my finger on when this shift to making myself small started. Somewhere along the road, I stopped doing things that mattered to me. I stopped being my outgoing, assertive, “want to experience everything I can” persona, to what I’m picturing myself as now. All I know is I’m not where “I” wanted to be, but here “I” am nonetheless. I pictured myself differently career wise, spiritually and home wise. This makes me sad.
I’ve been trying to tell myself the past couple of days, I could be exactly where I’m supposed to be and cleaning out the junk room is the first step to getting me back to where I was or should be. Cleaning out the junk (mess) of my life…in small increments. Perhaps it will re-ignite the passions, dreams, and paths that I have had packed away in all those boxes, over all these years. After all, 26 years is along time to be packed away. That fills me with hope.