For quite a while, I had been keeping a memory box. Inside this box one would find pictures of past flames, tickets from events I went to, sports medals from my childhood and everything else, which at one time or another, made me smile. As time passed, I found that less and less of those things were making me smile. Some of these tokens were actually evoking really strong feelings, ranging from pure ecstasy to full on torment. Okay, so maybe I exaggerated a bit, but looking at these items does bring back a flood of memories. Some of these memories I could definitely do without.
In order to purge those bad memories, I began sorting through my memory box. I tossed everything that made me wince. The emotional release became addictive. I couldn’t stop myself. I went through pretty much everything I own trying to rid my life of anything that no longer represented me. How can a person move on if the past is constantly staring them in the face?
A thought popped into my head. Back in college, after an exceptionally trying semester, I discovered a great way to release my frustration after writing a 10-page paper about how rats learn to get through a maze (I love psychology classes, but, man, what a boring topic for a ten-page paper). I gathered up all my notes and revisions, grabbed the biggest kettle I could find and went outside into the snow banks. I put every piece of paper used to create the exam into the kettle, struck a match and threw it in. There I stood, outside my dorm, completely satisfied, staring into a kettle, making sure the only survivors of this inferno were charred little shnibbles. I remember standing there with a goofy, devious grin. Unfortunately my happiness was interrupted when security showed up to inform me to put out my fire.
Thus the burn box was born. All the items I had purged from my memory box found their way into the burn box. I also added any other papers and pictures that made me wish I had a case of selective amnesia. But, since that type of forgetfulness is not an option, I guess, I will just have to burn all of the evidence.
Using wood and fire starting tips, both supplied by my dad, I was able to quickly start a fire. I chose a spot for the burn I know already makes me happy. It is beach along Lake Michigan I have been going to for as long as I can remember, and, more importantly, has a memorial to my grandpa.
Sitting by the fire, tossing in pieces of my past was a great release for me. I tossed in pictures of exes, things they gave me, love letters they wrote me and anything else I could find that tied me emotionally to any relational baggage I had been carrying. I even tossed in the I <heart> so and so doodles I found interspersed in my lecture notes. It felt liberating. I tossed in pictures from toxic friendships, freeing the memories of trying to be someone I would never have become no matter how hard I tried. I even tossed in an old employee handbook as a symbolic stick it to the man. It made me smile and think of the scene in the movie Office Space where they all gather in a field and smash a printer.
I burned everything. Roasted marshmallows had never tasted so satisfying in my life. I put out the fire, leaving the ashes to wash out to the sea…err I mean the lake.
