Shredding Paper

Recently, I took on the task of organizing the bookshelf outside my room. Though it was organized for the most part, I knew there were lots of papers that could be rearranged and books that could be brought together to look more attractive. Not to mention the old checks, bank statements, and the Sephora shopping bag with hundreds of receipts from the past four or so years. (Lesson here: don't save your receipts. It's just not worth it, and the ink just fades out anyway.)

Among the rejectamenta were several manila folders labeled and sorted and, by most definitions, organized. I thought, "I'm sure I don't need most of this stuff. I'll sort through it." I opened one folder and thought "Later." Then I opened the next and thought, "Later." I repeated this process three times before I realized that I just didn't want to throw anything away.

The useless papers from my old job still looked important. I thought that maybe I wanted to remember how much work I had done. How much I worked every day and week to get my job done. I wasn't willing to throw out the old coworker numbers or meeting agendas or scrap papers decorated with my notes from meetings and conferences.

I found I wanted to keep them all for a while longer. What could it hurt really? They would just there on the shelf not bothering anyone the way they always had.

I wondered why--why couldn't I throw them away? What is stopping me? Why is it so important to me that I keep these useless scraps of paper and that I hold on to the phone numbers of people I don't talk to anymore?

Heirlooms are one thing. Inheritances are another. Bu why do we hold on to the past when we don't need to?

It would've been so easy to shred those papers along with the bank statements. I've already accumulated about six small supermarket bags of shredded paper and two small bags or ripped paper. What was one more bag? Nothing in the scheme of things that matter.

But, no. I kept everything. And now it's sitting there, reminding me of all the work I used to do and all the activities that required drinking multiple cups of coffee each day and headbutting with coworkers and those I supervised and the awkward meetings with my boss and the times I locked myself in my office to breath while I held my head in my hands, wondering if I was about to have a panic attack.

I keep looking back at the folders as I write this. Josh Groban's "Hymne a L'amour" is playing and I'm thinking of making myself a sandwich. Later, I have to do some laundry and email someone. I'm thinking of those headphones I have to return to Amazon and the fact that I have some library items due later in the week. The paper shredder is resting after overheating from overuse and there's bits of paper on the floor that I'll have to sweep when I'm done with the organizing.

Yet in the background of my thoughts are the things I used to do and all the ways my life changed in the past year.

And I still don't know when I'll get over it.