For over a month I’ve been planning to tackle my closets and drawers which are four years overdue for a spring cleaning but this weekend was the first of the pandemic that I hit upon the right combination of bored and not wholly drained and and not neck deep in imagination play with my six-year-old that is necessary for a home project. Last night I cleared out a deep drawer in my nightstand. I packed away for storage a fat binder jammed with sheets and sheets of hand-written twelve-step work and and my hefty, marked-up quadruple combination (Book of Mormon, Doctrine & Covenants, Pearl of Great Price, Joseph Smith translation of the Bible). I tossed another thick volume–Taking Charge of Your Fertility–and a slim Narcotics Anonymous workbook into the giveaway box. I tossed a few printed PDFs on ritual and spellcraft in the trash. As I surveyed the space they left behind and the stack of books I chose to keep (on tarot, law, running, religion, myth) I wondered how many more identities I will take on and shed before this thing is over. How much of what I claim to be today will fall by the wayside as my life is stripped to the bare essentials? Writer? Runner? Lawyer? Christian? Mystic? Addict? Artist? Geek? Witch?
My nightstand still isn’t clean, by the way. It’s buried in a mountain of drawings and cards and gifts from my not-so-baby girl. Those aren’t going anywhere.