What (not) To Keep
When it comes to my possessions, I’ve always lived by the philosophy of ‘use it or lose it’. Perhaps it’s because I’ve moved around the world so much, and having more stuff only makes this more difficult and more expensive. Or that I’ve had dreams of a beautifully organized, pared-down, uncomplicated lifestyle. One way or another, the message to get rid of, declutter, and minimize imprinted itself on me. It forced me to regularly take stock of my belongings, physical and virtual, and clear out anything I hadn’t used in the past three months or more.
When I think of the extent of this loss, of everything that I have purged from my life, I feel quite heartbroken! Gorgeous clothes (a teal dress with gold buttons is currently haunting me), lovely cards that people have given me, books, mugs, concert programs, photos I wish I had kept. These all seemed like a good idea to send to the recycling bin at some point, and in some cases, it’s true I haven’t looked back. But for others, I wish I had held on a little longer.
All summer, my Google account has been telling me that my storage is almost full, prompting me to clean up space by deleting photos/videos/emails/documents, and other files. I ignored the reminders until Google eventually told me that my storage capacity was at 100% and I could no longer receive emails. Finally, I sat down to consider the contents of my virtual storage box, intending to complete the tedious task of going through all those files and delete as much as I could. It became clear that my videos were causing most of the trouble; I tend to record a lot of my practice so that I can self-correct and ask friends for feedback. I have hours and hours of footage dating back to 2014, when I first started filming myself and saving to Google; hundreds of videos of the Kreutzer Sonata, various Bach movements (or the same ones, several years apart), the Sibelius concerto, the Tchaikowsky concerto, preparation videos for my Bachelor exam, and then my Masters’ exams, for a solo recital here, a quartet concert there, audition material… As I scrolled through more than a decade’s worth of this documentation, trying to decide what was trash and what was ‘good enough’ to keep, I decided that, actually, I had to keep it all. These videos are evidence of me living my life, of progress as well as mistakes, of work that really mattered to me and that I care about. I may never watch any of these videos again, and Lord knows nobody else ever will, but I just couldn’t delete this record of myself.
The same thing happened when I looked at my photos and documents: old concert posters that I designed, projects I worked on, or silly pictures I once sent to my partner. I will not readily give money to Google, but in this case, I forked out for the next tier of digital storage space. And I’m sure that when this fills up, I will do the same thing again. Maybe that’s just what getting older and accumulating more years of life and experiences is: buying more space to store it all. If AI ever truly takes over, Freya Creech will be downloadable as a .zip containing all of these files.
I think there’s something about the relationship between time and ownership that gives our possessions meaning, and it might be important not to overlook this. My old copy of Hardy’s “Return of the Native” is dog-eared, creased, and torn, from when I took it with me on my hike in Patagonia last winter. My beautiful vintage velvet concert dress that I bought when I still lived in Salzburg circa 2012, and which came to me already having lived several lives, reminds me of all the concerts I’ve played in it, and I get to enjoy those memories each time I wear it. In my jewelry box, I have some pieces that belonged to my mother and grandmother, and others that I’ve picked up on my own adventures. I take great pleasure in all of the little stories that box contains. What gives all of these things real worth to me is not their monetary value or their practicality and usefulness in my daily life. It’s the time that they’ve spent with me, shaping my life in some way, forming the fabric of my own experiences. It takes time to curate your collection of belongings, and I think it should necessarily do so.
Of course, I’m not recommending that we should become hoarders, especially when it comes to material objects. We all know the old papers that can be chucked, and the sweater that never fit and never will - those things have to go. It’s also probably very healthy to clear out the junk from time to time. I think I’m suggesting that we could try thinking twice about the things that have meaning before flippantly throwing them away, even if they aren’t obviously serving us right now - they might be worth hanging on to. I never thought a grainy phone video of me in a basement practice room, slogging away at a Paganini Caprice, would hold significance for me ten years later, and yet, I’m so glad that I still have that.
A practice video from this week :)