Letting Go, Part 1

It’s been over two weeks since I last posted here, and in less time than that from now, I am riding off into the sunset. More accurately the sunrise, as I will be heading east. But in any case I am leaving one home behind to find another. Texas will become my fourth state of residence after Georgia, Indiana, and Colorado. Six days after school, and thus my current employment, ends, I hit the road. Not that said current employment had to end. I gave it up willingly, which I know is a risk in today’s economy. But I am leaping in faith, and I know I have a soft place to land.

And just like when I came here a decade ago, I am leaving with no more than what will fit in my car, a Hyundai hatchback. Being so minimal means letting go of so much. Which I believe is truly a good thing, but not at all easy. Not everything that holds a memory needs to be preserved; the memory will persist, with or without its tangible reminder. Almost everything falls under the one-year rule: if you haven’t looked at something, much less used it, in at least a year, then you don’t need it.

Books are the most difficult for me. Not that many articles of clothing are emotionally important to me. If I make myself, I can pare down to an adequately functional wardrobe.  Most of us don’t really need to fill a walk-in closet. Some clothes have to go with me, though. The difference is that you can’t digitize a shirt. You can now literally hold an entire library of books in one hand. I have a NOOK, plus a phone and two computers that can accomplish that purpose. Yet the real things are so hard to let go of still. It’s taking up entirely too much of my time, sorting books and hauling away those that I am giving up. Many I got trade-in credit for, others I am donating to libraries. But at best I will still have one largish plastic tub and cardboard shipping box dedicated to books taking up that preciously limited about of space in my vehicle.

Many of the books I had, a few I am still keeping, I’ve never even read. But I think that is part of their value. They hold the promise of “one day.” One day, you’re going to have days of leisure to sit by the fire, with your feet propped up, absorbing a hefty tome. There is also just something nice about seeing them arranged on a shelf. I admit it, I draw conclusions about people based on what I see on their bookcase— or if they even have a bookcase or not. The range of subject matter, the proportion of nonfiction reference to paperback novels, etc. There’s a reason Barnes & Noble sells those faux-leatherbound classics: sitting on your shelf, they make you look smart.

I like to think that I just can’t stop learning and exploring. On the other end, it could be pathological hoarding. The truth likely falls somewhere in the middle. To conclude, I say, long live books! Just not in my car.