Like many of us, I have a collection. Not stamps or coins – though I admire a good commemorative quarter – I collect stuff I might need someday. You know, the “just-in-case” drawer that somehow turned into a closet, which morphed into a box or two in the basement labeled “misc.” I’ve hauled these boxes from apartment to apartment, convinced that future-me would thank past-me. Instead, future-me usually opens the box, sighs deeply, and wonders what on earth I was thinking.
And most of the time, let’s be honest, I end up giving away, tossing, or donating the contents with a side of guilt. “I never needed this. Why did I keep it?” The cycle repeats. A hopeful save, an eventual purge.
But this time – finally – it was different.
I Needed Some Sparkle
It was one of those dreary, dragging days. A cold drizzle. Flat light. One of those days where the world looks like it’s been washed in gray. I needed something cheerful. Something alive. A little flash of light to lift the mood.
Jewelry, I thought. Not earrings I’d forget I was wearing or a necklace hidden by my scarf. No, I needed bracelets – the kind that sparkle when you move, the kind you see when you look down and remind yourself there’s still some glitter in the world.
So, I did what any modern woman does – I went online. Beautiful options, all with beautiful price tags. I popped into a local artisan shop – gorgeous work, and absolutely out of my budget (no disrespect to the artists; just not where my wallet is right now).
The A-Ha! Moment
And then I remembered the box.
Yes, that box. The one with the jewelry-making supplies I bought when I went through my “I’ll make everyone handmade holiday gifts this year” phase. The same box I’ve carried through more than a decade of moves, always wondering if it was time to let it go. I dragged it out from the closet, popped the lid – and there it all was: beads I’d picked up from markets and fairs across the country, tools I forgot I even owned, a little bit of dust, and a lot of potential.
On that gray day, I sat at my kitchen table and made three bracelets. Just like that. I put them on, and they shimmered with a quiet joy. And so did I. That box that I’d nearly tossed more times than I can count suddenly felt like a time capsule of me – who I was, who I am, who I’m becoming.
It Made Me Stop and Think: What Makes Something Worth Keeping?
After decades of trial, error, and overstuffed drawers, I’ve learned a few things. Three, to be exact.
1. Know What’s Replaceable – And What’s Not
Some things are truly one-of-a-kind. Like the beads I picked up at a craft fair in Taos, or that tiny strand of faceted stones from a street vendor in New York. You can’t Google those. You can’t reorder them. And my tools – while not sentimental – are good quality and not cheap to replace. There’s real value in knowing which items are hard to come by again and choosing to keep them, even if you don’t need them yet.
2. Know What Gets Outdated – Even If It Was Expensive
This one hurts. I used to ski. (Check out the blog I wrote on my ski experience.) I had all the gear. Boots, poles, jackets with more pockets than I ever used. It was an investment. And yet, when I pulled them out last year, the boots pinched, the skis were obsolete, and my desire to careen down a mountain had clearly expired.
My needs changed. Technology moved on. It didn’t matter what it cost – it wasn’t worth storing anymore. Same with the candle-making kit I gave away after years of it sitting untouched. Turns out, I liked the idea of making candles. The actual process? Not so much.
3. Know Yourself
This is the core of it. The things I’ve saved because I thought someday I’ll like that – they rarely make the cut. The clothes I’m saving for a version of me that doesn’t exist. The hobbies I thought I should enjoy. For example: knitting. I tried. I really did. But the counting drove me nuts, the yarn tangled, and I never made it past a lopsided scarf.
Beading, though? I love it. I love the feel of the materials, the rhythm of design, the way it slows me down without boring me. Though I hadn’t touched it in years, the joy was still there.
Knowing yourself – what truly lights you up versus what you’re saving out of guilt, fantasy, or pressure – is everything.
What’s Next?
It’s always a bit of a gamble – what to keep, what to toss. But the odds get better the more we know ourselves. The more honest we are about who we are now, not just who we used to be – or hope we might become someday. And in the meantime, I’ve got a little more sparkle on my wrist, and one less thing to feel guilty about keeping.
Let’s Have a Conversation:
What do you feel guilty about keeping? Have you ever turned to your “someday” box to find useful things inside that you are glad you didn’t toss? What were they?
