I mentioned earlier in the week that as a household, we were on our way to de-cluttering and cleaning up. Yesterday we tackled the books. I would like to say we are done, but I personally have more books to bring down from the attic, more to bring up that I am keeping. I could not continue last night since my back was minutes from a serious revolt.
I can't say how many books we actually sorted through. Michael's pile was a sight to be seen mounded on the office floor like someone backed a dump truck up and let her rip. I did mine in a more orderly fashion...crate by crate. Mind you we had to keep going into the sweltering attic to retrieve books, sort them into keep and donate piles, bag them up, and then bring them downstairs. This was a hefty workout on a warm day. I was so excited about the process, I had only slept 3.5 hours prior to starting.
At last count, Michael got rid of about 250 books. I estimate when I am finished that I will be close to 400 books (I am at 340 and have not tackled reference, art, or religion yet).
Michael and I were at one time very deep into the small press writing circle and from this faction one gets a lot of recommendations for books. It is easy to pick them up at sales and at the store thinking "I want to read this someday" and set it on the shelf. It isn't as easy to make the actual commitment to read the books and this is what they are for, right? Isn't a books inherent joy that it will be read? We were not honoring our books. We were not honoring ourselves.
Many of our old small press friends think we are nuts for dumping our collection, but it has been a huge freedom. I was disgusted with myself for hoarding so many like a status symbol. I was mad at myself for wasting time, energy, and money hoarding them, but at the time of their purchase they must have brought me joy. The act of collecting was a happy process. But as I sat there holding these books in my hand, each one individually, I found that I had joy for so few of them.
The books that made the cut were authors who always make me smile, whose books never fail to bring me joy. A handful of the books saved were ones that changed my life; the ones that I think of from time to time even though it has been years since I read them. Looking at the covers of their books physically moved me.
Part of the wonder of this process is the waking up to how I have been living my life. I am not hating on myself in any way, but I can clearly see that I have piled possessions around me to protect me from the pain in my life. It is an emotional process to pull that wall down brick by brick. It is empowering to know that I have chosen to let the light in, that I have grown strong enough to no need that coat of armor.
Next, we move on to papers and then music and movies. It is such an adventure. Stay tuned.
Aleathia
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