For the last 5 or 6 years, the purging process has been moving pretty rapidly. I'm not sure if it's from the onslaught of several hours of Hoarders marathons, or just a general sense that..I have too many things. Still a renter, it's a difficult and strenuous task to haul one million books and two million records. But, for all my purging, there are certain things I don't want to part with: The first record I bought with him, A chain my dad bought me that I'll never wear, etc. If I burned everything, at least I had those, I always thought. I did realize (just today) that in this purging period, I've lost a little meaning. I don't yearn to be overly sentimental, but I'd like it to exist in small compartments inside me with a little physical reminder. Not spilling over, but quietly existing, you know? Maybe a more selective and thoughtful purge is needed.
The other night at work a woman walked in with a wallet she had found in the parking lot in front of the cafe. She didn't want to bear the responsibility of it, so I told her we would keep it in hopes that this young girl would stop in. Her license photo looked familiar and I assumed she would come searching for it. I casually looked through to see if we could find a phone number. Nothing. Lots of checks, safeway coupons, a book of stamps, neatly organized receipts. This morning, I realized it was still sitting under the register. We flipped through it once more, a little more thorough. We found a tiny handwritten piece of paper : Brian R. with a phone number and a small black heart.
We called and he was relieved to know that it had popped up. "She's been worried about it and has been too busy to look around," he said.
"Wait, how did you know to call me?"
We mentioned that his phone number was written on a small piece of paper with his name.
"We've been dating for three years, I can't believe she kept that."
In your pocket, In your wallet.