The Dark Side of Nostalgia
Photo by John Brundage
“…every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow…” (James 1:17)
When I wrote my posts about decluttering, I worried that some might read them and think ‘Easy for you to say—you live in a glorified college dorm!’ It’s true that as a seminarian living in community, my possessions are relatively minimal. I think what I wrote still applies on a larger scale. But if you live in a giant house filled with possessions, don’t be too impressed by me, or too discouraged by yourself. A few weeks ago I discovered yet another factor which made my decluttering easier: very few of the items I brought with me to seminary carried genuine emotional attachments.
When I went to my parent’s home during Spring Break and started to declutter the items I’d left there, it was a different story. Although I had roughly the same number of items at my parents’ house, these took nearly twice as much time to go through. It turns out that deciding whether or not to keep a stapler doesn’t carry the same emotional weight as a memento from a fondly remembered childhood outing.
As with my last decluttering adventure, I roughly followed Marie Kondo’s method. I emptied out my closets and drawers, and I took all the books off my bookshelves. I took each and every item in my hand and asked myself ‘does this bring me joy?’ Like last time, there were items where I knew instantly that they brought no joy. Getting rid of them should have been a piece of cake. But once again, mysterious fears held me back. In my seminary declutter, the resistance was mostly practical fears about the future: ‘What if I’ll want to read this book later on?’ or ‘How do I know these notes won’t be useful in the future?’ or ‘Isn’t it always good to have a backup?’
These fears were real, but they were relatively simple to assess: I could get rid of ninety-nine percent of these items with practically zero risk of any future inconvenience. And ninety-nine percent of the likely inconveniences could be easily overcome. I knew I could always go to the store and buy more paper clips. But in my home declutter I realized that I couldn’t go to the store and buy another class group photo, or a treasured first grade art project. If I got rid of these, they would be gone forever. Rather than practical fears about the future, I was now grappling with emotional fears about the past.
Some items brought back bad memories. Taking them in my hands, I’d feel a fresh and familiar wave of regret, embarrassment, and shame. Others brought back warm and cheerful memories, but even these were bittersweet. The past they recalled was long gone, and not everything that had happened in the meantime was good. I felt that by getting rid of these items, I’d lose the good memories they stirred up and be stuck with the regret and shame they left behind. Some items were the worst of both worlds: they brought me no joy but lots of fear.
As you can see, I was having quite the dust up with the dark side of nostalgia. Luckily, as a fifth year seminarian, I’ve been around the block when it comes to delving into the past and dealing constructively with difficult feelings. My experiences helped me pace myself, and they kept me from getting overwhelmed. One of the things I most appreciate about Kondo’s method is that it makes it crystal clear when you’re motivated by fear. As I found my feet emotionally, I saw that more often than not, it was the memories I treasured, not the actual item. Following Kondo’s advice, I expressed gratitude for the item while recognizing that it had served its purpose in my life. This brought closure and resolve, which built and built throughout the declutter.
Detachment was a spiritual theme that stood out to me during this declutter. There’s nothing wrong with owning possessions. But this declutter taught me that things can go deeply awry when we look to them for the happiness that only God can give us. If we’re not careful, nostalgia can make us forget that all good things come from God. And if we forget that, then we can fall into the trap of thinking that what made us happy is gone forever. That’s a foundation of sand if I’ve ever seen one. Rather than placing our trust in good things, let us place our trust in the giver of all good things.
By now you’ve read a lot about Kondo’s method. Why not give it a try? Empty out a drawer, and take each item in your hand, and ask yourself ‘does this bring me joy?’ In prayer, ask Jesus what your experience tells you about your relationship with things, and your trust that all good things come from him.