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Even if I live to be 95, like my aunt or my grandmother on my dad’s side, I passed the “mid-life” mark awhile ago. If I’m lucky, I’ve got a third of my life left to live—a significant stretch! These days, nearly every day, some version of Mary Oliver’s most famous quote runs through my mind:

                                  "Tell me, what is it you plan to do
                                  with your one wild and precious life?"

And, lately, the answer to that question leads me to thinking about getting various aspects of my life in order: building a freelance editorial/writing coaching business; getting more of my own work out into the world; keeping orderly files (paper and electronic) in case some health crisis occurs; and getting my “stuff” in order—the physical things I’ve accumulated but rarely, if ever, use—also in case emergency strikes.

Since my father’s death in 2019, I have seen how hard it is for my mom to let go of his things. In various ways, they are manifestations of their life together. The existence of his physical belongings means he existed and they existed as a couple and as parents and, in some sense, still do. Look, all these objects seem to say, we are still here, he is still here.

My mom has never said anything like this, so maybe I’m projecting. But at some point a couple years ago, during yet another conversation about getting rid of some stuff, she kind of shrugged and acknowledged that she was just going to leave it to her six children to go through everything in the house and my dad’s shop after she was gone. Since then, I no longer urge her to do otherwise. The enormity of it is clear. I feel it myself, for my own things. I have a lot of stuff piled up in two basements in New Jersey, and I don’t want to leave it for my kids to go through.

I want to get going already on my own stuff. What am I holding onto out of the fear that once I am gone, I will be forgotten, if not for some physical evidence of the life I’ve lived? What am I holding onto because I don’t want to face the passage of time—that I am no longer young, with a life full of a zillion possibilities stretching toward a distant horizon? But also: what is worth remembering and celebrating and laughing about before letting it go, with joy and gratitude? How can some people just chuck stuff and keep their spaces clear of anything extraneous?

This is what I want to figure out while going through the things. I want to create a practice of reflection followed by intentional action — the letting go or holding on. Maybe you would like to do this for a bit too? And then, of course, I’ll write something about it and share it here. I hope you’ll come along!

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Subscribe to get full access to the newsletter and publication archives. I will be posting an update available to all subscribers (free and paid) every Friday along with a #SerenitySunday poem, image, or video to remind us to live in the moment. Additional content will be posted once or twice during the week for paid subscribers only. In addition, paid subscribers will be able to comment on posts and, eventually, submit their own tales of letting go/holding on to themed calls.

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