I like to tell the story of my 6-week trip to the east coast when I was 10. It was the trip I ate my first avocado, sewed my first dress, and saw an old dude performing Grand Marshall duties at the BicentennialParade on Vinalhaven, Maine. (I later learned the significance of the “old dude”, Walter Cronkite)
I spent hours clumping with my cousins, eating Atomic Fireballs, and learning how to properly shuffle a deck of cards.
I bought a “lobstah-cracker” in the form of a mini baseball bat at the parade to commemorate my trip.
Fast forward a few decades, and I came across the memento in my shed. By this point, I had been working with clients, trying to lessen their load, for a few years. I saw this as an opportunity to practice what I preach.
Before I knew what was happening, I found myself tossing that piece of wood in the green waste bin.
Why? After 30+ years of owning it, with all of the happy memories attached to the occasion in which I got it, did I now feel compelled to let it go?
Because I had never needed it to remember.