As a lifelong minimalist, my possessions have always been sparse, chosen with care and intention. Each item I own serves a purpose, either practical or sentimental, and sometimes both. Today, as I decided to reorganize my closet, I stumbled upon an old sweatshirt from my days at Marshall University EMS—a relic from a chapter of my life that was both formative and challenging.
In 1998 and 1999, I served as an EMT at Marshall University. Those years were a crucible of sorts, where I honed my skills, faced the raw realities of campus-based emergency medical services, and navigated the complexities of my identity. 1999, however, marked the end of my college experience there, not because of a shortcoming, but because the university discovered I was a lesbian. Many of my professors took issue with this, and their disapproval cast a shadow over my time at Marshall.
Finding the sweatshirt today was like unearthing a time capsule. It brought back a flood of memories—some bittersweet, others painful. I have always viewed relics and souvenirs as more than just physical objects. They are anchors to our past, each one a tie that binds us to a moment in time, a person, a place, or an experience. These items hold the power to evoke emotions and memories that are otherwise tucked away in the recesses of our minds.
Yet, as I stood there holding the sweatshirt, I realized that while these ties are strong, they can also be limiting. Clinging to these physical reminders can keep us bound to a past that no longer serves us. The past, as they say, is a different country. It will never be again, and sometimes I wonder if it ever was the way we remember it. Our memories are colored by our perceptions, influenced by time and distance. What remains is not always an accurate reflection of what was.
In that moment, I decided to let the sweatshirt go. It was a symbol of a time that had shaped me, but also a reminder of a painful rejection. Letting it go was a way of releasing myself from that pain, a step towards embracing the present without the weight of the past. However, not all relics of my career will meet the same fate. I will never part with my fire coat or my helmet, both of which were part of the third set of gear issued to me during my career as a firefighter, which spanned some two decades. These items represent not just memories, but milestones and achievements. They are symbols of my resilience, my dedication, and my identity as a firefighter—roles and qualities that are integral to who I am today.
Similarly, I will hold onto one of my uniform shirts. This shirt is more than just fabric and thread. It carries with it the pride of service, the camaraderie of my colleagues, and the countless hours spent serving my community. It is literal tangible proof that I put forth the time and effort, and eventually I achieved the rank of Lieutenant.
In our journey through life, we collect many things—some physical, others intangible. As a minimalist, I choose to keep only what truly matters, what adds value and meaning to my life. Today’s reorganization was not just an exercise in decluttering, but a step towards emotional and psychological clarity. It was a reminder that while the past has its place, it should not overshadow the present or dictate the future. By letting go of what no longer serves us, we make room for new experiences, new memories, and new ties that will bind us to a future of our own making.
July 9, 2024
Reading this in conjunction with the Oscar Wilde quote you shared today, “To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all”, makes me think about how an important part of living is being conscious of ourselves as we move through the world. An important part of being conscious is deciding what to keep and what to let go.
I grew up in a household dominated by hoarding. My father meticulously saved everything, convinced that each item could be repurposed or repaired. My mother, on the other hand, stockpiled excessively, buying more than she would ever need in her lifetime. In stark contrast, my career demanded cleanliness and order. Frequent relocations for work further reinforced my minimalist lifestyle. When I finally purchased my forever home in Vermont, all my possessions fit into just two trips in a Toyota 4Runner. Thank you for your timely and insightful comment, Christopher!