Memories are such a funny thing aren’t they?
The past two weeks I’ve been applying the KonMari Method of tidying to my house, going through every individual thing and asking myself if it makes me happy.
It’s a bizarrely thorough process of decluttering, one that at the beginning seems quite over the top and you ask yourself if it’s all really necessary. But while you’re doing it, something changes. It becomes much more than just tidying away things. You remember the fabulous little boutique where you bought those slippers. You remember wandering the streets of a wonderful city till your feet blistered and your ankles hurt. You remember the holiday you wore this dress on, the person you were with, you see the waves on the beach.
And then it just keeps getting harder and harder. You get to the point where you come across stacks of old postcards and photographs.
Stolen moments that for some reason meant enough to you to print out the picture.
How much you’ve changed and how ridiculously little you’ve changed.
We hang on to things long gone and we try protect ourselves from the future.
Because we don’t hang on to things, we hang on to memories.