Clutter, Memories, and the Stories We Can't Throw Away

What Our Junk Drawers Teach Us About Letting Go

Every so often, I get the urge to “sort things out.”

It usually starts with one messy drawer.

You know the kind, the one that has no official purpose but somehow holds batteries that died during the Obama administration, receipts from restaurants that no longer exist, and at least four pens that gave up on life years ago.

I open it with determination.

Today’s the day. Today,

I’ll be ruthless. No more clutter. No more mystery items.

I’ll finally be that person who lives with clean lines and empty spaces, the kind of person whose kitchen drawer doesn’t look like a tiny hardware store had a nervous breakdown.

Five minutes later, I’m holding a phone charger for a device I haven’t owned since 2013 and thinking, better keep it, just in case.

Just in case what, exactly?

In case I invent time travel and need to charge my old Nokia? In case the charger becomes a collectible antique? In case scientists discover it cures loneliness?

I don’t know. But I put it back anyway.

The False Promise of Tidying

There’s something deeply optimistic about cleaning.

It promises transformation.

I’ll start with this drawer, and soon my whole life will be streamlined.

I’ll be efficient, focused, the kind of person who definitely has their act together.

Except I never am.

Because once I start sorting, I stumble across things that trigger paralysis. A roll of tape that’s lost its stick.

A postcard from someone whose face I can’t quite picture. Three identical Allen keys that definitely came with furniture I no longer own.

Each one is quietly telling me: Maybe one day you’ll need me.

And against all logic, all evidence, all common sense: I believe them.

The Comfort of “Just in Case”

I think it’s less about the object and more about the story behind it.

That random cable might be useless, but it represents a time when I was prepared.

That old letter reminds me of a version of myself I’ve mostly forgotten but apparently can’t let go of.

Throwing things out feels like erasing parts of myself.

Keeping them feels like insurance against some vague future catastrophe where I’ll desperately need a broken watch.

So I put them back.

And the drawer stays the same, except now it looks slightly more disappointed in me.

Our Mental Drawers

It struck me recently that I do the same thing in my head.

I decide it’s time to “sort out my thoughts.”

Be decisive.

Let go of the stuff I don’t need. But then I uncover old grudges I’m still rehearsing arguments for, career dreams I abandoned in 2017 but refuse to officially quit, and that one embarrassing thing I said at a party in 2019 that literally no one else remembers.

Instead of tossing them, I put them back “just in case.”

Maybe one day I’ll need that resentment.

Maybe one day that abandoned plan will suddenly make sense.

Maybe I’ll run into that person from the party and finally need the perfect comeback I’ve been workshopping for six years.

It’s easier to hoard than to admit something is done.

The Illusion of Usefulness

Here’s the irony: when I actually need something, I rarely find it in the drawer. When the remote runs out of batteries, the “just in case” batteries are all the wrong size.

When I finally move house, the mysterious keys fit nothing.

It’s the same with mental clutter. Those old worries and “what ifs” don’t prepare me for the future.

They just fill up space I could use for something new, something that might actually help.

But I still hesitate. Because what if?

A Better Way

Maybe the point isn’t to become ruthlessly minimalist overnight. Maybe it’s just to be honest. To admit that some things were useful once, but they’re not anymore.

To say thank you, and then finally let them go.

A drawer, a mind, a life, they all work better when there’s room to breathe.

So yes, I’ll probably still put things back into that drawer tomorrow. But maybe next time, I’ll let one or two go.

Not all at once, not in some dramatic purge, just one small act of clearing space.

Because here’s the paradox: the things I hold onto “just in case” are usually the very things standing in the way of what I actually need.

And who knows?

If I ever do find out what those mystery keys unlock, maybe it’ll be a door I didn’t really need to open anyway.

Or maybe, and this is scarier, maybe the only lock they’ve been opening is the one keeping me stuck in the same old patterns.

Either way, I think I’m ready to find out.

How about you? Does this story sound familiar to you? I would love to know, let me know in the comments, I reply to all of them.