Long overdue, the task avoided my endeavors until forced to address the overfilled shelves, stuffed hanging rods, and disappearing floor space. It wasn't the bulging master closet or my husband's minimized space allocations that finally elicited my attention. It was the upcoming real estate listing.

Deciding to sell the house we built as an investment, and build or renovate another, we'd agreed on the sales process initiation date months ago. With the day rushing towards me, and every conceivable delay already orchestrated to avoid the closet cleaning task, I committed the weekend to upholding my end of the bargain.

Still, I struggled. Overwhelmed by the accumulation of stuff the closet held and the memories woven like threads into cloth, of a wedding here or a birthday celebration or a special event there, the closet housed years of my life. To others, the appearance of outdated clothes, unfashionable shoes and well-worn favorites too dear to part with, was merely a hodgepodge of no longer used clothing and accessories.

But to me, there was a history or a possibility attached to each item. Fat clothes, thin clothes, medium clothes hung along one wall, like conquering warriors or future battles to win, reminding me of successes and failures along the way.

The dress soaked with tears during my father's funeral hung near-by. I could never bear to wear it again, yet how could I part with it? Could I give away the dress I wore at my son's wedding, embedded with joy, or the sweater worn holding my two-hour old granddaughter, permeated with love. What about my safari cloths attiring our 30th anniversary trip to Africa? It's doubtful I'll wear them again, but part with them? I don't know.

With closer closet scrutiny, I recognized, along with the loving memories, the not-so-wonderful feelings of failures and disappointments were housed there, too. Remnants of the person I was seemed more prominent than the person I'm evolving to become. I reeled at the confining, constricting, no-longer-me styles unreflective of my current lifestyle and dreams.

You see, in the scheme of things, I discovered my closet was a museum to where I've been. So when I decided to let the contents reflect instead where I'm going, the task was easier. No longer weighed down by tangible expressions of my past, the future feels lighter already. And all those memories? I realized they never lived in those trappings. They live in my heart, and they'll always be there for me to access and savor.

 (c) 2007 Nan S. Russell. All Rights Reserved.

More of Nan S. Russell's work can be read at www.nanrussell.com