There are fifty books in a pile in my floor.
These aren’t just any books–they’re the books that used to be my identity. My whole world. Every anxiety. Every dream.
In short, my teaching materials and my dissertation research.
I wrote, by the way, a great dissertation, about a culturally relevant topic that I still care deeply about. I finished graduate school promptly on time, with the requisite checkboxes checked. If I’d done it ten years earlier, I would have a successful academic career now. But I didn’t, and I don’t. Honestly, I have very few regrets.
It’s taken me a long time to let go of this huge physical presence, though. How much of my past can I excise, without it being too much? Can I get rid of this stuff, without fracturing myself in some incurable way?
Today, the answer was finally YES.