Moving house has the specific advantage of encouraging you to sift, toss, sell, donate and general de-clutter your belongings. I like to think I travel light and live in a space with minimal clutter. However, it appears I’ve been clinging onto random flotsam and jetsam, some bits for many decades and across continents.
Do I really need those heavy trekking boots, tundra-ready ski coat, broken helmet, or 4 inch studded suede shoes? Probably not. Downsizing can be quite joyful in itself, and there is a momentum that starts to build, allowing you tackle the trickier bits. For me, I was able to move through 8 massive photo albums detailing spectacular (and not so spectacular) chapters of my life. I’m now the proud owner of 3 albums, each one bursting full of memories and laughter. Feeling chuffed with this accomplishment I moved on to my journals.
Writing has been a bit of therapy for me for most of my life. And yes, I’ve held onto the words over time. Paging through a few older books I felt my soul offering compassion to my younger self and almost wanting to intersect moments of doubt with positive reassurance that things turn out well. The journey back in time was both hilarious and at times sad, but overall, truly enlightening. The amazing thing I started to realise was just how many of my dreams – sometimes hastily scribbled – had become reality. Perhaps the power of manifestation is accelerated when we put pen to paper. For me, it seems to be working. So while I’m letting go of tattered journals, I’m facing the future emboldened to dream even bigger, capture it in writing, and soak up the JOY that follows.