All Packed Up

Measuring time is usually a wasteful exercise because it prevents us from being in the moment in which we live. Whilst our lives are comprised of all the moments we have lived we should be wary of casting a shadow over the future by spending too much time reflecting on what once existed but has passed. We carry the past with us in the sense that who we are is formed by the past and it will have an effect on our choices and actions in the future. That does not mean that we have to spend our days contemplating the journey of our lives. It is, I think, better to accept that we are products of our histories, for better or for worse, as we step into each day.

Having said that there are some things that one has to do that pull you into the past. I have just finished packing three boxes of clothing and found myself sitting on the bed remembering when I bought a pair of shoes, why they had to be dark blue and the wedding that I wore them to. I thought about the bride and bridegroom with a smile. They are now the happy parents of a little boy and seem happy. A skirt reminded me of a New Year's Eve evening at the Charles Hotel. The food was okay, the desserts wonderful, music excellent and the new year offered me opportunities. Did I take them? Certainly some of them but I suppose that there were some that passed me by because I am who I am. We all miss at least a part of what the universe offers us because we become nervous, hesitant and spend too much time speculating on all that might go awry rather than grab what is offered and see where it takes us.

There were clothes in my cupboard that I had bought with my daughters. Some of them made me smile. Time changes tastes so that there are a few items that are of the sort that make me wonder what I was thinking. There are the dresses that may be in fashion again some time in the future so they have been folded and packed. There are some that hopefully will never come back into fashion - they are in the pile for the recycling. I am no fashion plate, even in my brief glory days I lacked the confidence to be one, but I have had a few moments of bordering on trendy. Fortunately no one took any photos at the time!

There are cardigans that my mother knitted for me that are ... unattractive, to be kind but which I will never discard. She loved knitting and was kind enough to make sure that my daughters always had beautifully crafted jerseys. So those went into a box. A number of odd gloves - chucked out but reminders that winter is on its way. Scarves both knitted by hand and bought. A lovely cashmere shawl in shell pink that was bought when Kirsty was at college. A number of balls of wool that I was busy using for a scarf when I thrust them into the cupboard. Into the box- a cold winter's day project. Handbags that held lipsticks long past their prime. Eyeshadow deep in a pocket in a handbag that made me blink in rapid succession out of sheer terror. Did I ever wear those colours? If so why did no one lock me in the bathroom with a box of tissues and some remover?

Shoes that I can't walk in because of the height of the heels, shoes that are sad, shoes that are - ugly. Blouses that are colours that make me suspect I have recovered from colour blindness. Sleeping apparel that makes me want to see a psychologist! Which raises the question: who are the people who select the colours that we wear to bed? Bright pink is a colour that needs to be restricted to babies and should be banned from any store selling adult clothing. The PJs must have been a joke gift from some one who seriously disliked me.

The cupboard empty I sat on the bed and sighed. Change is good, I reminded myself. It is an opportunity to remove things from your life that are no longer treasured, used, cared for as well as a time to reduce the flotsam that attaches itself to our lives.

The seasons change and so must we. To not do so is to stagnate. The things that I carry have become lighter and more treasured because I have chosen them instead of having them thrust upon me.