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I’m not the sort of person who hoards things unnecessarily. In fact, if I had a dollar for every time I’ve donated or thrown something away and regretted it later, I could probably take an all-expense-paid Caribbean vacation. From basic things like clothes that “didn’t fit me anymore” (until they did) to irreplaceable keepsakes like my childhood journals (which led to a lot of self-reprimands of “how could I be so stupid?!”), the valuable things I have lost to my compulsive need to “unclutter” is staggering.
This hyper-minimalism used to extend to books as well–even books with personal significance. I know it’s hard to believe but it’s true. I once got rid of a Tommy Tenney novel my dad had given me that was signed by the author. I sold my copy of Inkspell, which my brother gave to me when I was a kid, in a yard sale. I donated the copy of Twilight two of my friends bought for me. (Okay, maybe that last one was a good idea.)The Sweet Sorrow of Purging My BookshelvesClick To Tweet