Out of Sight

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It’s true what they say. Out of sight. Out of mind. It doesn’t always seem to fit in the context of people I miss or places I’d rather be, but this mantra seems to be perfect for material things.

That’s what they are, though, just things. Toys and books and outfits that, even when they hold a memory, can be discarded without a second thought and without being missed at all. The minute I put them away, I forget that they were even in the toy box or in my closet, to begin with. And when I say, toys, just to clarify, I’m talking about my kids’ toys.

It proves that these aren’t the things that matter. Material things, objects. They don’t hold the significance that even a memory of them will hold. We may be sentimental about them because they are attached to a feeling or memory, but that feeling or memory doesn’t live in the object itself, it lives within us.

So I donate things. I clean them out, I get rid of the clutter, and hope that someone else will find as much joy in the items I no longer use as I did.

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