I am a sentimental with an artistic bent. That is to say, I have a habit of collecting stuff. Treasures/ junk, call it what you will. I can’t help but fall in love with rusty sweet tins and vintage linens. I become emotionally attached to old canvas duffle bags and retro kitchen wears that perhaps evoke the thought,’ My nanna had one like that.’
This habit of collecting however isn’t limited to just things .It applies keenly to memories, moments, people . This is a blessing but can also be to my detriment. Some of these collectibles are more than just a little dusty and dinted.
The same desire that sees me dreaming of repurposing old tins and restoring vintage sewing machines has me pining away after other old and broken, damaged things.
I hoard regrets like antiques I’m duty bound to keep. ‘If only ‘ has played as a soundtrack to this life on more then one occasion reverberating shame into the atmosphere…. If only I didn’t. if Only I did. If only it was different. I should have, could have .If only I could take it back, undo it, rewrite it……you get the idea.This theme song drenches the air with frustration raining on my solid ground turning it to mud and I become stuck.
What about those relationships that have become in need of a refurb? Shared history is a formidable tether. After all there’s beauty in the worn and weathered, and doesn’t everything in life deserve a second chance? Everybody always is an aspiration I’ve long held dear. But is this wisdom I wonder.
I guess its wisdom that separates a collector from a hoarder. To know when to let go. There is most certainly a knack to fixing up. Learning when the restoration is beyond my capability when the job is meant not for my hands is something I’m slowly beginning to understand. Its a lesson in honesty really, knowing my limits.A master class in letting go.
Some treasure weighs us down. I’ve learned that there is freedom in goodbye.Holding onto some hearts and some memories only serve to pull us under. Holding on can equal staying stuck. I’ve realized that it takes more then my best intentions to see rebirth. While there are times my capabilities are sufficient for the task at hand there are others when they simply won’t do. When keeping my hands off and handing it over is the only way. Sometimes holding on is not helpful but even detrimental to the piece, damaging to my own heart and the heart Id try to salvage
In the effort to avoid the hoarder’s mistake I seek wisdom to know what is for me and the grace to let go of the rest.
Sometimes those second chances were never mine to give. Those regrets whilst perhaps valid were never meant to be kept and carried but rather a lesson learned in season and then let go. Forgiveness is hard. Forgiving yourself the hardest of all.
I seek the courage to let go of the yesterdays and embrace the new beginning.To be content with bittersweet. To forgive me, move on and through and always look ahead.
I preach this to myself on days when nostalgias grip threatens to undo my progress. Eyes up! Don’t look back for long after all you’re not going that way. I’ve noticed the lighter load makes forward motion easier.
Whilst I’ll always be a sentimental… The collected is slowly but surely being refined until only the treasure and none of the junk remains.