I've been given one of the greatest gifts I've ever received: a safe haven to fall to pieces. I came home to WA to visit my parents for a month in the hope to help them out. I wanted to encourage my mother in her pursuit to be healthier and to help around the house. I wanted to dedicate my time to them instead of myself. And while I have done all those things, I think I got a hell of a lot more out of it than they did.
It is a luxury that I do not take lightly; to be my age and be able to escape my life and be completely taken care of. I hadn't understood how pear shaped my world had become until I came home. I immediately got sick as well as threw out my back and stayed on the couch for three weeks recuperating. It was as though my body had finally thrown up its middle finger in rebellion for all the stress I had put it through in the past decade. That's exactly how long it had been since I had stopped my life for longer than a New York minute.
Mentally, I wasn't doing that much better. Never leave me alone with me and give me very few things to do. Oh, I helped around the house. But while I polished silver, dusted, organized, baked, and shredded documents, I also had plenty of time to think. As many of you know, I am a champion over thinker.
I went through all my childhood belongings and paperwork in order to downsize. I suddenly realized how much of the past I had been hanging on to. As I began to shred old tax forms and medical bills, I found memories that I had blocked for years: disappointments, "almosts," "onedays," and innocent hopes. I found my SAT scores which I promptly shredded with bitter glee. The first evidence that I wasn't as smart as I had always thought I was. I found my first and only speeding ticket that I got because I was rushing home to tell my mom that I got my first lead role in a musical. I found over 50 certificates from all my extracurricular activities that I forced myself to join because that's what people said you needed to get into an Ivy League school. I found old love letters, postcards, and a shoe box of heart break that I had hidden even from myself.
You see, I collect hard copies of memories so I can delete them from my mind. I wipe the desktop of my brain so I don't roll around like a dinged up used car that has its battle scars on display for everyone to see. I remember very little from my Undergrad at Western because I spent most of it depressed and in therapy but I found movie ticket stubs that reminded me of how unhappy I was. I remember very little from high school because I spent most of it trying desperately to get out from under my "misery chick" persona and become "something." And yet there was old programs from choir performances and school dances.
As I sifted through the hard copies of my memories, I noticed that most made me sad. They reminded me of high expectations and missed opportunities, of moments when I was good but not good enough. It reminded me of being the chubby little girl who came in second place, second chair, or one point short of an A. Always one step behind exceptional.
I know I'm exceedingly hard on myself. I know one of my biggest fears is that I am mediocre and what I do does not matter. I know my pride makes me cringe at even admitting it to myself, let alone putting it in writing. And those are just things I will continue to work on. But while I sat there choosing which memory to shred and which to refile, I also noticed another thing: I am awesome and relentless in the area of hope. I hope to find what I can excel at, I hope to help people, I hope to stay honest and expressive. And anything from the past that prevents me from doing those things are unnecessary and disposable.
So I shredded the hard copies of things that hinder me from that progress. Some memories are echoes of old insecurities that have long been extinguished yet still tug on your heart strings. Some are reminders of relationships that were important and right at the time but are no longer relevant. Those are not useful and therefore into the shredder they go.
I don't believe in trashing all unhappiness though. I kept some of the things that hurt. After all, we learn from our past but we can't let it cage us. But I only kept those that fueled the burn in my chest, the ones that bring out the fight in me. I have nothing against ferocity; it often brings the most progress.
And then I kept the reminders of my achievements and made room in the shoe box for new memories. Second place is still a success. Good is still good, and room for improvement encourages the fight.
I'm not saying you should shred your past and pretend like it never happened. It did. You are who you are because of it. But there's nothing wrong with lightening the load. All that old stuff is like grimy film on your windshield. It makes it harder to see where you are going and what you really want. I feel like I just Windexed the shit out of my windshield. No more dinged up used car either, I'm driving a new Audi.
I'm back to the City this Saturday and ready to put the pedal to the metal. Feel free to come along for the ride. :)
