A few years back I read through The Art of Discarding by Nagisa Tatsumi and I'd highly recommend it. It's a short and light read that breaks down our habits of keeping things and has a handful of strategies to get rid of what we don't need, and I found it pretty useful with decluttering a good chunk of what I don't need, and I found that a lot of the stuff I had for sentimental reasons I didn't have much of a true connection to.

But with that being said, winding anecdote: Last month I was helping my folks clear old boxes that pretty much contained my entire childhood. Aside from 3 books there was nothing I'd remotely thought about keeping for well over a decade and I was happy to give or throw away whatever I found. Old toy cars, action figures, way too many PS2 cheat book and magazines to count, I had no connection to anything as we sorted out charity deposits.

I'll admit the Lego was a fun nightmare (I admit that I never should've opened the box!), I'm still scrounging through a mountain of bricks putting together which sets I can, but I won't be keeping this myself.

But then there was a box containing a wooden train set.

The last time I saw it I was ~4 years old. And there I was, looking at something so innocent that hadn't crossed my mind in over 20 years and I immediately broke down in tears on the spot. It felt raw and even thinking about it is still overwhelming. I was laughing with tears streaming down my face as I talked to my mum about it, and even though I won't touch it ever again, I can't help but feel thankful that she decided to keep it for me.

I wish I could make some poignant point about memory and the human condition, but it's weird and odd the way we can have such different emotional attachments to things, and don't take it too hard if some things are too hard to throw away.