It was a balmy 60 degrees on a March Sunday when my partner, Lisa, and I decided it was time for a serious decluttering session. With our son’s 10th birthday party on the horizon—an epic Nerf battleground event in our small Oregon backyard—we needed to clear out the garage and patio. While I wasn’t entirely sold on the idea of a Nerf-themed bash, my son had been buzzing about it since a friend’s party a few months back.
The garage had become a veritable time capsule, spilling over into the patio. Our home is cozy, just under 1,000 square feet, with three bedrooms for our three kids, and we’ve somehow managed to hoard things from different states, moving the same boxes around without ever letting go of their contents.
I won’t claim we’re hoarders, but we definitely struggle to part with all the nostalgic items from the ’90s. Lisa unearthed a box filled with her old prom dresses, and as she pulled out a silky baby blue gown with puffed shoulders, a wave of nostalgia rushed over her. She reminisced about her high school days, recounting who she went with and how stunning she felt in each dress.
Meanwhile, I stumbled upon my old Army jacket, a staple of my teenage years adorned with safety-pinned punk band patches. I donned it for a moment, and despite being in my mid-30s and far removed from high school angst, I felt that familiar rebellious spirit come flooding back.
We both stood there, a couple of thirty-somethings caught in a whirlwind of nostalgia, with me in my punk jacket and Lisa holding up her prom gowns. If a stranger had walked in, they might have thought we were trying to relive our youth, stuck in a decade that had long since passed.
“We really need to let go of this stuff,” I said, breaking the spell. “We’ve been lugging these boxes around for years.” Lisa hesitated, holding up another dress, this one a deep purple. “What if our daughter wants to wear it to prom?” she asked. I chuckled. “I don’t think she’ll want to wear your old gowns from the ’90s. Just like Tristan isn’t going to don my punk jacket for high school.”
I could see that she understood the logic behind my words, but the sentimentality was strong. This is one of those unspoken aspects of adulthood—sure, having kids and buying a house are part of it, but so is the reality of fitting into a more practical role. Embracing adulthood means trading in the reckless abandon of youth for the responsibility of caring for a family.
Eventually, I gathered my jacket, snowboards, and band T-shirts, all boxed up for donation. Lisa held onto two of her dresses, claiming they could be used for dress-up, though I suspected she just wasn’t ready to let go completely.
I made a trip to the Goodwill donation trailer down the street and watched as volunteers unloaded our memories like they were just another set of items. It was a bittersweet moment, one that stung a little, because those items represented our youth. But as a dad and a homeowner, it was worth it for the peace of mind that came with a clean and organized garage.
In summary, part of becoming an adult is learning to let go of the past, even if it means saying goodbye to cherished memories. It’s about embracing the responsibilities that come with parenthood while navigating the bittersweet nostalgia of youth.
Keyphrase
Adulthood and letting go of nostalgia