No survivors, no souvenirs

It once dawned on me, finally, that if I continue to attach fond memories to objects I own, I’ll slowly chip away at my freedom, my flexibility, and even my generosity.

For example, I used to own three basketball trophies. I won them back in the day when I played basketball for a team, back before I stopped growing taller. I didn’t really care about the trophies, but I kept them around because they reminded me of those good ol’ games.

Same with my massive sticker ball. Same with the rock my dad brought back from Israel. Same with my collection of favorite books. I kept them all because of the memories I’d attached to them.

But let’s extrapolate that out. Where’s it lead?

As the years roll on, I’d continue to collect more and more stuff. Pretty soon, I’d have piles of it, things I’d probably never use but would keep sentimental value.

I’d end up a slave to my own stuff. I’d have to store it. I’d have to protect it. I’d have to move it around if I wanted to go anywhere. I’d have less freedom, less flexibility, and less ability to give any of it away. Sheesh… it would get ridiculous.

I know because it already has gotten ridiculous even with the relatively few things I own now.

So instead of continuing to feed that monster, I’m trying to shake it off. By getting rid of trinkets I don’t actually use or need to use, I end up feeling freer. By purposely not collecting keepsakes, I avoid the problem from the start.

The process is tough at first, but I think the longer I wait, the harder it will get. It’s easier to cut things brutally today than delicately years from now. Now is the time.

So… no survivors, no souvenirs. At the end of my life, I want to be the guy who’s completely spent, the guy who’s totally dead with nothing left to give away.

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