Finding a life while cleaning out a closet

      As I was cleaning out a closet recently, I came across two large plastic bins of old photos, letters and mementos from the 1980s. At some point in the past, I had conveniently sorted them into manila envelopes by year. Because it was snowing outside and my plans for the day had been canceled, I decided to dive in and look through it all.

      I realized at the end of several hours of reading through letters, cards and journal entries and looking at photos that these bins contained an encapsulation of the whole decade of my 20s. I marveled at the fact that I had kept all this stuff for the last 40 years (and I am not a pack rat). But I realized that I had kept it all because I knew, at some point, if I lived long enough, I might not remember most of these people or their relationship to me.

      And I desperately want to remember it all.

      As I looked at these photos and re-read the letters, I was struck by how much emotion and honesty were communicated in these small documents: My mother worried about my safety when I spent a summer in rural West Virginia alone working on my master’s thesis. Girlfriends who married right after graduate school and moved away, telling me how much they missed me. Boyfriends who conveyed their feelings through terribly clever and funny missives. These friends and I were at the beginning of our adult lives and excited about embarking on the journey.

      In “Superbloom: How Technologies of Connection Tear Us Apart,” Nicholas Carr traces the history of communication among humans. In the chapter on the advent of the postal service, he notes “Letters sustained but also deepened relationships. And the care and attention devoted to a letter’s composition and reading were themselves expressions of affection and respect. Once read, a letter often became a keepsake and, in time, an heirloom.”

      I realized I have bins full of heirlooms. In today’s world where people primarily communicate digitally, by text message, social media or some other platform, are we sustaining and deepening relationships? Is reading these communications engendering affection and respect? Do younger users of these communication technologies even know what they’re missing out on? These digital communications will not be heirlooms, saved in a plastic bin in a closet to be discovered much later in life.

      As I worked my way through these items, I had the inevitable thought: what happens if I die before my husband, will he look at all this stuff or just throw it away? What if my sons are the ones to go through it all?

      They will certainly see a side of their mother they are unfamiliar with. But that might be kind of cool—to realize their mom was a whole human being, full of aspirations, desires, joy, sadness, regret ... just like everyone else.

Sharon Barrell is a retired technical editor who lives in Durham, NC.