The Seven-Year Shedding of Snakeskin

This process I've been going through of moving out of my apartment has been an interesting one. The first thing I wanted to do was sell everything and pare my possessions down to what I could carry on my back. Partly it was a matter of practicality and money. I didn't want to pay rent on an apartment I wouldn't be living in, and I didn't want to spend a lot of money on storage.

This is the second time in my life I've gone through a phase of paring down my possessions like a snake shedding its skin. The first time was seven years ago, but that time was so difficult and painful. I agonized over the entire process. This time has been so much easier, even pleasureable. In fact, I couldn't make it happen fast enough. I was beginning to feel suffocated by my possessions.

The most interesting part for me is how easy it has been to let go of things -- especially when I find myself flinging bags and boxes of stuff I've held onto for 20-25 years, stuff from high school and college, like letters and cards. I can see it was a way of holding onto my identity.

"This is who I was in college. This is who I was in highschool. These were my friends."

I've lived three or four 7-year cycles since then. It no longer matters who I was back then or who my friends were. Maybe I came from Mt. Olympus or another planet for all it matters.

Look at that box over there: I saved cards and letters because I thought maybe someday I'll be famous, but I can see clearly now that not every word I've written is worth publishing. So, here I go right now to dump another box of crap I've been saving for over 25 years. I'ts about time!