I want to pare down on my possessions but not by breaking them, and especially not by breaking something meaningful.
I broke one of my grandfather’s vases today. I was moving a plant and accidentally knocked the vase from the dresser. Each piece of pottery I own comes with the memory of my grandfather, who had a pottery wheel and kiln in the basement of his tiny house. I am reminded of his big hands molding unwieldy lumps into something delicate, and thirty years after his death something of him remains on my shelves.
So often it is the sentimental piece that falls to it’s untimely demise while the ugly Ikea vase remains intact for all of eternity.
It’s a good lesson though, and one that all the declutter experts try to emphasize. An object does not represent the person. A vase is not my grandfather and a broken vase does not mean that my memories of him are any less vivid. The void of a lost loved one cannot be filled by holding onto object that we somehow feels represents them. An object is just an object.