I found the envelope I thought I’d misplaced. While searching, I wondered about the importance of the contents of that envelope and about why I should be the keeper of those contents: family birth and death certificates, armed forces records, and my SAT scores. In triplicate.

Am re-filing all kinds of items I believe I have to archive, even if no one ever looks at them again. Maybe I should burn the lot of it, to remind me of the perpetual potential for rebirth. Let go of what does not serve.

Then at the same time, I can’t. Am trying to learn that just because I once lived something, that experience doesn’t need to be carried for a lifetime. Not just the barbed lessons and the most enchanting sprees, stuck in amber, but endless catalogs of sparks in various forms. Do I need to carry the clutter of so much history? Isn’t remembering it enough, without the need for verification?

The memorabilia? Paper weights. Illusions. Life does not depend on preserving the past. Life cares about balance. Life chooses to nourish itself. I let go. Breathe. Make space for the release.

Rain stopped. Feels almost balmy outside. Soft.

Hopping back into the flow, with no attachment to outcome. 

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