volume thirty-six

curating the soundtrack of my life

This week I let go of something I loved that I never, ever thought I would.

The more I donate, sell or gift to someone I know will love it, in order to narrow down the entirety of my personal possessions into a volume that I can fly with, the more things I am willing to let go of. 

It is a slippery slope of “I couldn’t possibly” to “it all must go!” which, ideally, is what I need to be doing.

At the start of this physical shedding a few weeks ago (I had been mentally giving it all away already while still in Australia not wanting to leave the sunshine but simultaneously wanting to get back here so I could… leave), there were some things I was just never going to get rid of. Some were books, some were clothes, some were accessories like shoes and chunky jewellery I haven’t worn in years and smaller handbags for when my big one needed to stay in for the night, those days of which are long behind me. But I still was never going to part with them for sentimental reasons, or one-day reasons, or selfish reasons.

So I began letting go of the things I knew I could, and had to — the furniture, the winter coats and boots, the kitchen stuff, the picture frames (just sliding the prints into my suitcase), the inexcusable amount of throw cushions and candles, and more. The more I let go, the more I let go. It started with actually, physically getting back from Australia. With jet lag and being unable to sleep, I unpacked my suitcase at ten o’clock at night and at the same time pulled everything out of my closet I hadn’t thought about for six weeks (and said hi to the things that I had indeed thought about and missed).

I ended up with five canvas bags of clothes I was ready to part with. It felt great. Soon friends came over and took what they wanted, then some other items were sold and exchanged at second-hand boutiques, then finally, the rest was donated to someone who was so happy to get them. It felt so great that I didn’t stop there.

“When was the last time I wore/used/read this item?”

“Do I know someone who would make better use of this and get joy from it?”

“How much does it weigh and is that worth the precious space in my suitcase?”

As a result, a friend was ecstatic to take a stack of my books, exclaiming how they won’t have to buy one for months and that brought me so much joy.

Another friend gets to parade around in my pink teddy bear coat and get stopped by strangers who compliment her on it.

Another friend gets to host her reiki and hypnotherapy clients on my emerald green chaise lounge and offer healing to those who will benefit from it.

Strangers on the internet get to dress up their apartments with different furniture, art, rugs, throw cushions and ornaments. Some even sending me photos of my treasures in their new home to show their thanks.

Friends of mine are getting some of my plant babies — forcing them to remember me every time they water it. I of course sent them along with watering instructions, their names (and if applicable their nicknames) and their favourite songs to be serenaded with.

And then, slowly but surely, I got everything down to the four bags (at least I think and hope) that will get me to the next chapter only to turn that into two bags there for the following chapter.

Well, I almost narrowed it down. All that was left that wasn’t going to fit in that limit, but was never going to leave my side was my CD collection. My baby. The collection that sat in my mum’s garage for a couple of years when I first moved to Canada, only to fill a suitcase on my first trip back. A collection of over one hundred CDs that I have lugged from address to address, picking out albums for Sunday morning brunch cooking. Or Friday night dance parties. Or Wednesday lunchtime soundtracks for getting shit done.

I have CDs dating back to my childhood all the way up until now. I have curated a soundtrack of my life. Something that I never thought a streaming platform could replace, and quite frankly something I still do not think a streaming platform can replace.

I love fingering through the little booklets that come with a physical item. A surprise after purchase to see what is included in the interior slot, held in by the four plastic tabs that might break if I read the insert too often, falling on the carpet and waiting patiently, camouflaged, ready to bring me down at a later date when I step on it barefoot — probably while dancing. Maybe this insert is full of photos, lyrics, backstories. The glossy pages are supporting visual stories to a mood board made just for me to accompany my listening pleasure.

I love the disc art. Maybe a solid and bold colour of choice, maybe artwork painted and reproduced, maybe looking simple but ending up being so much more the longer I look.

I love the image buried under the disc, to be revealed after you pop it out. Well planned for the reveal to say something. Maybe make you gasp or laugh or cry.

I love playing a CD from beginning to end – the way it was intended. No shuffle, no playlists, no nothing. Just telling the story from beginning to end and going on the journey with them. I am grateful some streaming platforms have caught up to this side of things.

I love admiring them stacked on the shelf, a rainbow of options to suit my frame of mind.

I love remembering the excitement when I ordered it in at the store and finally went to pick it up. Or when I stumbled on it by accident at a market or garage sale or used music store and squealed in excitement. The same way someone squealed in excitement buying something else from me I was selling recently. The way that squeal brought me more joy than the item ever did, assuring me that letting go was okay.

But I didn’t want to let the CDs go.

“There is no way I am letting them go,” I tell my sister on the phone. “I can’t.” She kindly without judgement of my stress suggests a booklet to put them in so it is less weight. I tell her no, that defeats the purpose.

So they sit there. In the corner of my almost empty apartment. A huge weight in my mind as well as potentially in my suitcase. And I lay awake some nights weighing up the possibility of adding another bag to my flight for them, or what I could part with to make room for them, but would it even be enough if I did?

As I stress and wonder, life keeps moving forward and day after day my apartment clears. Day after day I let go of something I was sure defined me and was sure I wouldn’t be me without and that I was sure without it in my life I would lose myself and the image I had created for myself, of myself.

But here I am. Without a shag rug, or a chaise lounge, or vintage paintings, or golden ornaments, or an abundance of plants, here I am. Still me. Still cool as hell and still standing (or sitting) and still the person I found during the last two years of isolation. The person who I always was, but had gotten lost along the way of being surrounded by those I longed to be. The person who could only be discovered again by stripping back and cutting herself off as a result of a global pandemimoore. The person who is creating the actual life of her dreams. The person that exists, no matter what she owns.

So I call my Dad, the man who has inspired the majority of the taste in the collection, and I ask him, one by one, what he already has in his collection and what he is missing. And I beam with happiness when he says how many he already has, and when he proudly admires that we share a love for various artists. Then I beam at his excitement of adding to his collection. His “OH MY GOD!” to CDs he didn’t even know could be found. Then I bundle up the portion of CDs he is happy to have and write him a little love note and pop it in the mail. I feel light. I feel overwhelmed with happiness. I can picture my Dad’s face when he gets it. I can picture him rocking out, annoying the neighbours, as he blasts the music on a Sunday morning while he cleans his apartment. I can picture me visiting him before the year is out and rocking along with him.

Then I text my Mum. “Do you still listen to CDs?”  and she responds “Yeah. Sometimes. I still have mine.” Okay, so maybe not the level of enthusiasm as Dad but that helps! I select just a couple of mine that remind me of her, that I know she doesn’t have. Nothing huge as I know she is more of a radio woman, and her response said what I need to know. But these few make me think of road trips with her as a child, and make me think of her Mum, and make me think of early christmases, and make me think of funny home videos we have watched over and over. So I pack up six of my CDs with a little love note and send them to her. I picture her opening it, knowing I am thinking of her. A small step to repairing our relationship. Slowly but surely, at the pace that feels right for me.

Then lastly, I reach out to a local used music store. One where I have gotten a small chunk of my collection in the past two years. I ask if they buy CDs. They do. So this weekend, I will have the rest of mine bundled up, ready to fill my backpack (and maybe then some) and head on over to the store and sell them. Maybe I will only get a dollar or two for them, but that is beside the point. The point is whoever gets them next is making a choice to add them to their collection. They are making a choice to have them a part of their lives. They are curating the soundtrack to their life. And the joy that image brings me, lets me know I can let go.

I love you,

Lauren xoxo

Three things I struggled with this week:

• So months ago, I started watching BoJack Horseman as background noise for when I was cooking or cleaning, here and there, once a week or so. It soon became my latest binge as I didn’t expect it to be so dark and so deep and quickly got hooked and, well, I finished it over the weekend and I am heartbroken because I am once again mourning the loss of friends after a series binge ends and the ending was perfectly imperfect. That is all. 🐴

• No more dogs to care for? Then you better believe I am barely leaving the house again. Never fear, I know when I am soon living with pals I will be in good company and get out for walks and coffee and activities with them. For now, I will get through this stretch, accept how busy I am in getting ready for everything, and just take it easy on myself.🚶‍♀️

• I have almost entirely given up speaking French. I do what I can but now, knowing I am leaving, I feel exhausted. I would rather fumble through being polite and caring and considerate to a stranger hoping they understand my English than being cold and short with all that I can get out in a language I struggle with. It is not perfect, and it makes me so grateful that I actually have this choice, rather than none at all like some people do not. But it is how I am coping with this last stretch. One day I hope to try to learn again when it is with joy and excitement and not with the devastation of isolation.🤷🏻

Three blessings from this week:

• I finally, after many people suggested it, started using pomodoro and it is a game-changer. Wowee! If like me, you are always over committed, busy and time management is hard, then please do not delay like I did! Those small breaks are crucial and I was so bad at them before (as in I never took them). 🍅

• When it warms above 1 degree I feel scandalous showing an ankle like hellllllllo! ☀️

• BIG news coming for my podcast, My Dad Stole My Limelight to be announced soon. So make sure you are following it on your streaming platform of choice and Twitter and Instagram (do it allllllllll) so you don’t miss it! 🎧

Three goals for the coming week:

• Send the damn pitch. 💌

• Work on a personal essay I have long left aside. I plan to do so this weekend in the LWS 24 hour birthday sprint! Join us! ✍️

• Truly be on my track, so that I know when I return to a place where I have an abundance of wonderful people and places and things to take up my time, I hang onto the person I found when I had all that taken away. My lovely writer pal, Twinkle, reminded me of this last weekend, and she is so right. The hard part will be hanging onto her. I need to carve out time every day to make sure I do, and that I do not dive right into who I used to be by saying yes to every invitation like I used to. I hope my sobriety since last being around that lifestyle will help. 💖

What I am enjoying this week: 

Thank you Sophie from The Giraffe Files for the shoutout in your reading list! Go subscribe to this lovely substack! You won’t be sorry! 😎

If you feel inclined to say thanks for this post, please like or comment (it’s free and means so much!), forward it to a friend or you can buy me a slice 🍕