When I was a senior in high school, my mom went on a trip to Spain to visit her relatives and I had the house to myself for a whole week. Naturally, I decided to throw a Halloween party. Since I live in a townhouse, I knew I had to offer the first floor and the basement to maximize the space for my guests. I wasn’t about to let my basement full of junk stop me from throwing my first and last party of high school. 

When I say that my basement is filled to the brim, I mean that sincerely. We had way more than just Grandma Mary’s punch bowl. And now that my aunt and uncle have moved in, the junk has only increased. 

The main problem is that both of my grandmothers were painfully sentimental and had to keep any sort of scrap that tugged at their heartstrings. Grandma Mary collected turtle figurines because they reminded her of my grandfather who taught at College Park, she kept my dad’s crib that definitely would not pass safety standards today, and she kept two full trunks of love letters between her and my grandfather. Abuelita Crisanta kept birthday cards from the literal 1930s, her mink furs, and countless boxes filled with scrapbooks she put together from family vacations. 

As much as the right side of my brain tells me to reject the sentimentality that so desperately clings to me, my left brain knows she would act the same way. Both of my grandmothers outlived my grandfathers in very tragic ways. And now my mother has outlived my father. How can you not cling to someone’s possessions when you feel so cursed by the universe? 

Despite everything I’ve said so far, I don’t see their collections of junk truly as junk. I see each artifact through the lens of their eyes. Both of my grandmothers found stories and joy in their belongings and showed their love by savings scraps of newspapers that mentioned someone they know. If I’m destined to be the same way, then I will figure out how to manage it. 

One way to do that is to take lots of pictures. Whenever I clean my room, I get caught up in the nostalgia attached to my belongings, especially if I haven’t looked through them in a while. I’m going to do my best to take a picture of that item and then part ways with it because it’s 100% likely to be a waste of space and I can honor it by digitally immortalizing it. It’s time to stop feeling bad about throwing things away.

While throwing away trash like empty perfume boxes and expired sunscreen was easy money, getting rid of things like a cool hat I never wear or my faux plant decorations that take up too much space took a toll on my heart. I know I need to get rid of them, but I am a maximalist through and through. After packing up all the donations from last week’s clothing haul and this week’s various knick-knack cleanse, I had lots of options on where to drop off my donations.

When I was a senior in high school, my mom went on a trip to Spain to visit her relatives and I had the house to myself for a whole week. Naturally, I decided to throw a Halloween party. Since I live in a townhouse, I knew I had to offer the first floor and the basement to maximize the space for my guests. I wasn’t about to let my basement full of junk stop me from throwing my first and last party of high school. 

When I say that my basement is filled to the brim, I mean that sincerely. We had way more than just Grandma Mary’s punch bowl. And now that my aunt and uncle have moved in, the junk has only increased. 

The main problem is that both of my grandmothers were painfully sentimental and had to keep any sort of scrap that tugged at their heartstrings. Grandma Mary collected turtle figurines because they reminded her of my grandfather who taught at College Park, she kept my dad’s crib that definitely would not pass safety standards today, and she kept two full trunks of love letters between her and my grandfather. Abuelita Crisanta kept birthday cards from the literal 1930s, her mink furs, and countless boxes filled with scrapbooks she put together from family vacations. 

As much as the right side of my brain tells me to reject the sentimentality that so desperately clings to me, my left brain knows she would act the same way. Both of my grandmothers outlived my grandfathers in very tragic ways. And now my mother has outlived my father. How can you not cling to someone’s possessions when you feel so cursed by the universe? 

Despite everything I’ve said so far, I don’t see their collections of junk truly as junk. I see each artifact through the lens of their eyes. Both of my grandmothers found stories and joy in their belongings and showed their love by savings scraps of newspapers that mentioned someone they know. If I’m destined to be the same way, then I will figure out how to manage it. 

One way to do that is to take lots of pictures. Whenever I clean my room, I get caught up in the nostalgia attached to my belongings, especially if I haven’t looked through them in a while. I’m going to do my best to take a picture of that item and then part ways with it because it’s 100% likely to be a waste of space and I can honor it by digitally immortalizing it. It’s time to stop feeling bad about throwing things away.

While throwing away trash like empty perfume boxes and expired sunscreen was easy money, getting rid of things like a cool hat I never wear or my faux plant decorations that take up too much space took a toll on my heart. I know I need to get rid of them, but I am a maximalist through and through. After packing up all the donations from last week’s clothing haul and this week’s various knick-knack cleanse, I had lots of options on where to drop off my donations.

After sorting through my “must-keep” pile and through the things I want to keep but have no purpose, I felt a sense of lightness wash over me. After all, the burden of sentimentality doesn’t shackle me to my possessions.

After sorting through my “must-keep” pile and through the things I want to keep but have no purpose, I felt a sense of lightness wash over me. After all, the burden of sentimentality doesn’t shackle me to my possessions.