Deleting Things

I've always been a hoarder. I refuse to get rid of things, and that goes both for the box of cables and old electronics down in that cabinet in my office and for the files in my Google Drive, external hard drives, on my computers and phone.

A couple of years ago I felt the urge to reinvent myself. It may have been caused by a midlife crisis, the extreme changes in my life (separation, new house, new dynamics), or my mental health diagnosis, or all of the above. But I slowly started getting rid of things.

I still struggle sometimes, but when I catch myself, I force myself to do it. Very few things are essential, I tell myself. Most things are replaceable. It's always good to lighten our loads, both physical and cognitive.

And after the struggle, after the fight to convince myself, after throwing away, or deleting, there's always a sense of lightness. I feel some kind of relief. One less thing to keep tabs on.

It happened with people, too. With the reputation I tried to maintain. With my appearance. Coming from a lifetime of very low self-esteem, it's been hard to lean on myself and only myself for validation. At some point on that path I realized that I only have myself. Everything else can go away in a blink.

I'm very grateful for the people close to me, but I know I'm not sacred to anyone, and I don't want to. And while I try to be a loving partner and a good friend, my children are the only people whose absence I can't imagine making peace with. Like everybody else, I'm temporary, volatile, and I'll be gone at any moment.