On Hoarding...

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It's surprisingly easy to get sucked into watching lifestyle shows in the middle of the night. One minute you're watching Gary cut into wooden panels for his new patio & 3 hours later you hate the coffee table Shirley chose in her home makeover.

What I find intriguing is that there's always something to learn while observing these vanity projects. For one, I'm a Hoarder. I like collecting things but not just things... I love collecting memories & people too. 

In my heart I keep everything and everyone that I love. In my ears you will find music - every song my soul has ever consumed, stored neatly in chronological order, ready to be devoured at any moment. There is also a special archive: my mother's voice, her embrace, as well as the sound of laughter so gentle, it still stirs & erupts my own joy. I collect it all. 

Hoarding itself is not glamorous. It fits the same category as anorexia & bulimia - they're all about control & not letting go. 

Thing is, I don't have a problem letting go. I let myself go countless times & had no qualms killing off every version of who I was when it no longer served me. RIP to Azraqui, Azurah, Scallywag & all the people I had to be over the years, in order to become who I am today. 

I also don't hesitate letting go of people. Especially toxic people who have nothing to add to my life & usually take more than they give. 

Still. There are some things, just some things, that are so entwined with the fabric of our souls, that it's almost impossible to let go... a pearl necklace from Grandma, a heartshaped pebble from a beach in CT, summer rain, his scent, and especially, especially, the crinkled corners of a pair of playful eyes when they break out in a smile. 

And so, we hoard.

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