How many things do you still have in the back of your closet that seem to survive every attempt to clear them out? I’ve got this old, soft-sided leather briefcase that I must have gotten over twenty-five years ago.

Why is it so hard to give that old thing away?

I no longer use it. It hit my closet floor at least fifteen years ago. It had a good life.

But, that’s part of the problem. It’s not dead yet. It’s perfectly useable. It has that well-loved, well broken-in patina. And, since it’s still good and since it’s mine, I haven’t found a better home for it.

What are the choices? I’m vehemently opposed to contributing perfectly useful or otherwise serviceable items to a landfill. For me, that’s the nuclear option.

But why is it so hard to let go of? I know, sometimes it’s the memories we attach to certain relics from our past. I can’t even play that card with the briefcase. I’m sure of that… mostly.

They say we put more value on things that we own. Why is that?

That same briefcase in a second-hand shop would sell for maybe five to ten dollars. In a more upscale “vintage” shop in a nice part of town could possibly get over five times that.

But to me, it’s… priceless.

Priceless—even though I wouldn’t buy that bag today, no matter how good the deal. How does that make sense?

Okay, I’ve proven to myself that it’s not exactly priceless. But valuable enough to sentence it to fifteen years of hard time never seeing the light of day, and only having human contact with a few other castaways in my closet.

It deserves better. After all, it was a faithful companion for so many years. So, let me share the rest of the story surrounding the demise of this item that’s so valuable to me.

In a fleeting moment while traveling, my eyes drifted upon a new, younger, more “hip” messenger bag. It was love at first sight. “I’ve gotta have that bag!”

It must have been an affair to remember, but then to forget…

After the attraction wore off, that bag was then cast away to the other corner of my closet. I’ve tried to release it back into the world several times on good behavior. But when the hearing comes up, my inner parole board doesn’t quite see it that way.

Now, have you ever had a car that was totaled?

A car is totaled when the cost of fixing it is more than the cost of buying a similar used car in good condition. Simple enough. This is a different proposition. There’s math involved. You even get help with the decision.

As you likely know, a lot of times there’s real pain involved in losing a car. You’ve left memories and emotion throughout, including even some of your identity.

A car is an avatar… it tells the world something about you.

But when it’s broken beyond repair. When it’s all used up… It’s just a sunk cost. Ouch.

That doesn’t make it easier. But, in the case of a car that is “totaled,” there’s an unvested third party who helps you find reason with the imminent separation.

The insurance adjuster rips the bandage off, saying… “It doesn’t matter how much you paid for it. It’s broken, so broken that it’s cheaper to buy a different one than to fix this one. It’s a total loss. We won’t fix it.”

As with the briefcase, the car is part of your yesterday. The insurance adjuster is there to help you send it off to the scrapyard. It’s better that way.

Sign here. Take your check, she says with a smile.

What is it about the smaller things we insist hanging-on to? The equation is the same. They’re used. They’ve served a purpose. (Note the past tense).

If there’s life left in them, fine. But let them go. Send them back… into the world to live out the rest of their days.

It’s the right thing to do. Let it go, already.

Do it, my friend.

You’ll be happier for it.

 

Epilogue…

That old black leather case has been released to Goodwill along with a “less attached” batch of donations. And it only hurt a little.

But that board controlling my “good ol’ stuff that’s still too good to let go of” has denied parole once again for that once newer, hipper messenger bag.

There’s always next time… I’ll keep trying.

 

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