Nostalgia reigns supreme in my heart. I am sentimental and a saver, not a great combination if one is trying to downsize possessions. I am always trying to downsize something, either my stuff or me. The project never ends.

Some people are naturals at streamlining their belongings. They live with a comfortable amount of items, and more importantly, they know where said items are at any given time. My mother lived by the words, “it’s here somewhere!” Perhaps my condition is a genetic predisposition. That possibility could be comforting except the saving syndrome has not been passed down to my three adult children. They excel at deciding quickly what to save, what to move on, and where to put what they keep. The genetic theory lacks credibility.

In my defense, I do derive much enjoyment from my keepsakes. Last winter I spent time caring for someone who needed companionship but not constant attention. Many people spend such down time doing needlework, crossword puzzles, reading, or sewing. Not me. I sorted through cards and papers. My treasures are now two boxes fewer. I never toss without first reading. Final tally, some went the way of the shredder, many were restacked in the “must keep” file, and others were sent to family members from whom they originated. And I was bubbling over with good memories and happy thoughts from past incidents.

Those I sent the cards and notes to with a bit of explanation also seemed to share in the enjoyment. Revisiting one’s childhood via writings and drawings is interesting and often humorous. It puts a more specific spin on “Remember when?”

For a long time, I kept every card my husband ever gave me. He knows I like cards, we’ve been married 39 years and dated two years before our marriage and that adds up to a considerable amount of paper products. Even Sandy Super Saver decided that collection needed to be reduced. It’s a project in progress, and yes, there is some progress.

In my work the past nine years with seniors, a common lament among them, regardless of age, economic means, or living arrangements is “I have to get rid of all the stuff I’ve accumulated.” Since I’ve been privy many times over to their plight, I feel morally obligated to work on my own stuff. It’s much easier to be objective with someone else’s stuff.

Finding a new home for objects or clothing, as opposed to throwing them away, makes parting less traumatic. Donating to a church or charity’s garage sale is a possibility. Giving them away to someone who would enjoy them, and I emphasize the enjoy aspect, is another. Some folks have given items to their sons or daughters while they can share in the enjoyment of giving rather than having the items inherited. “Converting to cash,” as in selling treasures is another option.

Knowing what to do, and how to do it, pales in comparison to the actual doing. I’ve thought out various avenues for reducing my personal possessions. I know it should be done while I’m healthy and of sound mind. And if I don’t restore some tranquility to my surroundings rather soon, the sound mind might be a thing of the past.

How can trying to live a simple life be so complicated?