Blessed are they that can simply light a match.

I held the hand of a woman with twenty more years experience than I’ll ever have while she processed what was left behind. Parents, partners, preschoolers, and puppies had all moved on... and somehow, she was now responsible for it all: the remains. The easy stuff was easy... his, hers, and their stuff. Turned out, the poison was in the papers. That which represented all that was supposed to have been done...by someone: anyone. And I watched her, like The Goddess of Fucking Pushing Through, face it. It was hard: for her to do, and for me to watch. All I could do was make supper, and stoke the fire, and tell her it was okay. And after the long silent drive home I walked into what was supposed to be my sanctuary and there it was...everywhere...poison.

Papers are a funny thing. The sum weight of something you’d blow your nose in can represent entire careers, projects, dreams, obligations, commitments, opportunities, and regrets. Family, friends, foes, and the forgotten. And as they all rose in front of me, like a nightmare I was having of my future, I promised I’d purge my entire life.

It started with the big dig. “Hello?” I’d whisper into the closets, and corners, and piles hiding other piles behind doors and on shelves. The dust and faded type punctuating how long they’ve been waiting for me. Furniture had to be pushed aside. And sorting into smaller more-organized piles and themes padded the moment I knew I’d have to really feel it—face it—and decide what to do with it all. And it even gave me a giggle: cat-proofing the whole thing. And when there was nothing more to prepare, I found the thing I could never prepare for: hindsight.

It’s like looking back at the feelings you had before you knew what was going to happen: before the breakup, the pandemic, the accident, the layoff, the death, the birth…you just had no fucking clue. And now it’s now.

Surprisingly, relief was immediate. When the first tiny sub-sorted pile was cleared from my floor it was replaced with a breath deeper than I had taken in some while. Better than cutting the grass: instant gratification, but it won’t grow back! I quickly became motivated to pick off the low hanging fruit and was rewarded.

I found unopened mail from a year ago; some with money inside. I was reminded of that addicted-to-ordering-wings phase, that delightful coffee shop where I had all those meetings, and that blessed server who gave our table the funniest names that would appear on our receipts.

And revelations:

• There is a time frame in which keeping the toilet paper headdress from your stagette is meaningful. But the time will come where it matters more to have the toilet paper. It’s ok to let it go. It’s not like your bridesmaids all took a piece to remember you by.

• Keeping ticket stubs from past events in a folder in my filing cabinet honours them far less then taking a snapshot of them all, by year, and posting it somewhere where I will look at them from time to time.

It got hard when I could see the line where I stopped doing what I wanted to do: that stuff I was writing, those now-exposed canvasses with a sufficiently dry base coat, that gift I was making, and—the worst—my precious notes from classes, workshops, and important appointments from more than one ugly/frantic attempt to change my life…none of which I did. And it got harder when I could see reminders of what remained of my resentments. I’m happy to report that blowing-off-steam walks can transmute into liking going for walks and building healthy routines. I took my time—had more than one fire ceremony—but during the really hard parts this low-grade hum of a question persisted: how I could ever forgive myself for it all? The answer was rooted in the process itself.

Poundage, in paper land, refers to the measure of how much 500 sheets weigh (among other factors). So, one piece won’t slow you down: it’s the build up of hundreds that has weight. The sheer quantity of it all is the paralyzer. So, as you alchemize each pile into a breath you’ve been desperate to take for so long you start loving yourself for doing it. And that love makes forgiveness possible, and eventually delightfully automatic.

Near delirium set in as I hit the homestretch…

Before I claimed victory, I even ran to the mailbox...just in case there was the possibility of MORE PAPER in this exact moment…and there was! But quickly dealt with as—months later—I was a pro. Then I had no choice but to celebrate; for the only “papers” left behind were poison-free! Books I’d like to read: and those I’d like to write. The contents of finally-next-in-line projects I truly looked forward to spending time on. And corners, closets, and shelves that used to taunt me daily now remind me of that freedom every time I pass them by as I have repurposed them for simple joys. All that stuff that used to piss me off is gone.

And my paper habits are forever changed. Now don’t get me wrong...I want to continue to give and receive greeting cards, keep the proper receipts, and subscribe to one thing or another... but it’s just a matter of who is in control. Keep things that give you a feeling you want to carry with you throughout your life: and for the love of all that is sacred and holy don’t burden yourself with the rest.

No one—outside yourself—will ever make you do this; they’ll never have to deal with the consequence. Shredding these pounds cleared the path to things that have been told to wait; and gave me the energy to jump back on the bike that is my life. The past hasn’t been erased but it’s not weighing me down anymore. I gave myself the gift of my own time to catch up to myself, to simply see what happened, and to remove any physical reason to go-back. And my house does feel like my sanctuary now. Like I gently washed it—and the soul it reflects—with the belief that my life is worth that level of attention. And that belief is quite powerful in the wake of what was left behind.

The trash heap has spoken[1].

Tips: what helped me.

• I had to be willing to go digital. If the banks/government/etc. are digital—basically whom I keep papers for—then I can do it too.

  • Get a scanner. They are the cost of one very nice dinner: ranging in price to satisfy various people’s version of “nice dinners”. If you’re unsure of whether to keep something or not, or if it something you legitimately want access to for the rest of your life but don’t need it collecting dust on a pile in your house, scan it. We don’t want digital clutter either, but if it’s decently organized it’s quick to find it and get rid of it if/when you are ready. Meanwhile it’s not taking up space in your house. If you’re willing to capture one page at a time, taking/saving a photo also works.

  • Organize your digital folders to match your filing cabinet (if you have one on the go). It will then be a smoother transition from a to b.

• If you’re conscious about ditching personal information, a shredder is not a bad idea. I personally had SO MUCH that I took it all to an office supply store and they did it for me for $1/lb. Then I bought my own little home office version so I can take care of it going forward. I figured if I did it the other way around, I would have just worn my new one prematurely. I’m happy with my choice.

• It serves me well now when, in stores, I decline receipts I know I won’t need for taxes…much smaller pile at the end of the year.

• Implement a Special Papers Box. Throughout the year put special papers in the box (e.g., cards, photos, drawings from kids, ticket stubs, love notes…). At the turn of the year, you can look at them as you toast to the year and decide then which things you’d like to keep and how you’d like to keep them. Side benefits:

  • It reminds you of people that you want to reach out to.

  • It gives you the opportunity to say goodbye to things that have ended in that time.

  • It keeps you organized and prevents the return of the clutter.

  • It helps you process what happened and move forward with intention in your life.

[1] Shout out to Fraggle Rock (I wanted to be Red).