Living as though there will be no tomorrow, for me personally, is not as exciting as it may sound. First of all, I have to accept that I have accumulated a lot of junk over the years. This junk means nothing to anybody except me, and the stuff is everywhere.
Every book or magazine that I’ve ever read is in a stack or pile in random corners about the house. Somebody cut down a half acre of forest trees, turned them into papers, and left them in my house in the form of old bills, advertisements, pamphlets, and assorted other “important” papers.
I have huge black plastic bags in the basement that I don’t have a clue as to what is in them. I assume they are old-old clothes. Not only are they mine, but there are bags abandoned there by my adult daughters who have since moved away.
Hanging in my closets are precious and highly prized business suits, crisp blouses and shirts, high heels, and leather handbags. I keep waiting for the perfect person to give them to, and I can’t accept that nobody wants this junk.
After I am gone, my daughters will have the daunting task of culling through this junk to either give it away or toss it out. I’ve had to do the same task a few times and I know where of I speak.
Over the next few weeks, I will begin the process of destroying private papers that are the writings and rantings of my own life and about the shape of the world. Next, I will let go of 20 years of magazines. Who cares that I have the original newspapers of Jennifer Hudson, Jamie Foxx, Halle Berry, and Denzel Washington winning their Oscars? Whoever is in charge of my “estate” is going to toss them as sure as s___!
I have to stop saying I will do this next week because, as I live and breathe, I have discovered that tomorrow is not promised.
If you knew tomorrow was your last day, what would you prefer that nobody found in your home? Tell me. I won’t tell!