But where shall I store my years?

Warning: a quasi-sentimental post.

Dear readers, I am in the midst of one of life's great transformations. I am getting married to a wonderful man on Sunday. I am thus also engaged in preparing for this transformation, i.e. moving. Now, moving is a funny thing always, and much of my commentary is no doubt true no matter when you move or the circumstances surrounding it. However, there is something a bit more acute that I feel at this moment, as it is a defining one in the phases of my life. Weddings are a new beginning of sorts, yet you of course do not discard the old. It becomes integrated, and so with your material belongings. Now, sorting through old clothing and shoes is the easy part. But what of those things that you know you can never throw away, but you're not quite sure where to situate in your consciousness and in your physical space. This is of course a problem that is exacerbated by the astounding lack of space we New Yorkers have acquiesced to for the sake of living here.

As I dig through piles of wedding invitations, love letters from highschool boyfriends, breakup letters from the same boyfriends, obituaries of a friend who left us far too soon, poems from dear friends, pictures of moments that have passed but yet demand remembrance, and of people who are no longer in my life but without whom I would not be me -- i keep asking myself what one does with these remnants of life's occasions. Do I really need to save my ID card from my first internship? Will my grandchildren curse me if they are deprived of my melodramatic breakup emails (yes emails)? Will anybody but me ever care to look at this stuff? And perhaps more pointedly, do I even need this stuff? These are things that only surface when I move, that I never seem to spontaneously look for, but in whose presence I apparently find comfort. What would happen if I threw them out? Would the world quiver? Would I even regret it? In two months, would I even remember it?

But no, there will be no mass disposal of these artifacts of the past. I guess I will have to content myself with finding a new spot in my new apartment for my old lives.