Take out the trash

The local paper recently published a series of ‘Your Town in history’ articles.  You know these, right?  The photo series where the look down the street in 2020 and find the same picture from the same angle from 1920.  ‘Gee, a lot has changed’ is usually the sentiment.  

Old home movies do the same thing.  

I found a box of old movies and watched them as I converted them from VHS to DVD.  One tape struck me.  The filmmaker thought herself an artist as she walked through the house, introducing each person to the camera for some imagined audience.  This was a moment in time, some 30 years ago.  I heard the voices and noticed the carpet and remembered the couch before the one they have now.  The house was open, welcome, well lit, and full of people young and old.  I remember it fondly.  

I also remember one of my last visits to the house.  The magazines had piled up and the cake replaced with now expired groceries never put away. The laundry room could no longer hold the ironing board because the stuff had accumulated beyond capacity.  

What happened?  What needed to happen but didn’t? 

So look at the ‘Your Town’ picture again.  The corner store has been replaced by the used tire/gyro place and the row of trees are covered with Christmas lights in June.  

What happened? What needed to happen but didn’t? 

Life happened.  People made active decisions to tear down and build again.  Others decided to not take action.  Life happened to them.  

The stuff accumulated because no one took out the trash.  The hard decision to recognize that the stuff is no longer serving us was not made.  So it continued and more and more stuff appeared.  Life happening to her and she chose victim rather than agent…and the stuff accumulated.  

I saw this in that video: divorce, arrests, death, sickness — all hurt.  Hurt that accumulates because we don’t take out the trash.  Hurt that requires more stuff and more higher levels of support to adjust.  

It’s sad.  But it doesn’t have to be.  Do the work.  Take out the trash.   

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Mrs. Respect