Summary

The article "What Your Junk Says" reflects on the significance of a junk drawer as a personal time capsule, revealing the owner's life story through an assortment of seemingly random items.

Abstract

The article delves into the common phenomenon of the "junk drawer," a place where miscellaneous items accumulate over time. It humorously describes how these drawers, despite our intentions to keep them organized, become a chaotic mix of objects like take-out menus, coupons, old photos, and sentimental keepsakes. The author shares a personal experience of sorting through their junk drawer, finding forgotten invitations, cherished memories, and reminders of loved ones who have passed away. This process of organizing the drawer leads to a moment of introspection, prompting the author to make a list of actions to reconnect with friends, maintain personal traditions, and plan for the future, while also acknowledging the emotional value of the items that make up their "Life Drawer."

Opinions

The author views the junk drawer as more than just a cluttered space; it's a repository of life's moments and memories.
There is a sense of nostalgia and sentimentality attached to the items found in the junk drawer, which the author finds invaluable.
The act of cleaning the junk drawer is seen as both a walk down memory lane and a catalyst for personal reflection and action.
The author suggests that the modern shift towards digital communication and storage has diminished the tangible connections we have with our past, advocating for the preservation of physical items like printed photos and handwritten letters.
Despite the initial intention to organize, the author comes to appreciate the chaos and the stories each item tells, deciding to maintain the drawer as an organized keepsake of their life.

What Your Junk Says

We all have one. In fact, we’ve probably had quite a few. One at our parents’ house. One when we first lived on our own. And one or maybe two at our current resident. Mine is in the kitchen. Yours might be in your bedroom or maybe even in the bathroom. Or maybe you have several. You know what I’m talking about.

The junk drawer.

That space which you promise to keep organized. You’re always going to be able to open and close it. And at any given moment in time, you’ll be able to rattle off an inventory of its contents.

All good intentions, of course. But not everything in life turns out as we had planned.

Because somewhere along the way, with no consideration for your feelings, this drawer becomes a living, breathing organism pulling objects from all over the house inside its cocoon.

A menu from China Palace. It finds its way into the junk drawer alongside its siblings, those other take-out menus from various restaurants in the neighborhood. Necessities on those days when you drag yourself home from work, there is nothing to cook and you’re tired as hell.

A dozen 20% off coupons from Bed, Bath & Beyond. Into the drawer they go.

Those “Over the Hill” (several of them) birthday cards from everyone you’ve ever known. They’re sucked into the drawer.

Receipts, nail polish, screwdrivers, shoelaces, phone chargers, Legos, scissors, hair clips, scotch tape, AARP applications, empty pill bottles. Everything is welcome. And nothing ever leaves.

The other night I decided to get a handle on my junk drawer. I dumped everything out onto the living room floor, figuring this would be a task that I’d complete while watching TV.

Sitcoms came and went. The news. Late night talk shows. And there I was still sorting through all that stuff, reliving my life for the past few decades.

I’d forgotten to RSVP for a wedding shower in 2012. My friend had done things the old-fashioned way and mailed invitations. I hadn’t planned on going to the shower. But I now chastised myself for not responding. When did I get too busy to remember etiquette the way it used to be before social media?

Next, I opened an envelope of photos taken on my 35mm camera. I remembered how much I loved looking through that lens, and the excitement of opening the package of developed photos a few days later.

Flipping through them now, I saw myself ten years younger, before I had that wrinkle under my eye, the one that appeared the day my daughter developed a weird rash. In the next photo, my sister and I are raising martini glasses, our heads so close together, it’s impossible to tell where one head of hair begins and the other ends.

In another I found myself staring at my brother-in-law, my husband’s best friend and my father. All three men have passed away. In the photos they look so alive, I felt them breathing beside me.

Buried beneath a deck of cards, was a pretty wooden fan given to me by a friend who was experiencing hot flashes in my pre-hot-flash days. I remember thinking that I wouldn’t ever need this thing. Wrong. In fact, I used it while I continued through the pile sitting in front of me.

The tape measure brought back our plans to buy a new couch. But then the toilets overflowed and, well, a plumber was more important. We did end up with new “seats,” but not the ones I had planned on.

Of course, I tossed out a few things. Pieces of paper with writing so small and faded that not even my reading glasses helped make sense of the words. Cereal coupons from the last century. Floppy discs for a computer that had long since been recycled.

But most of the items were things I wanted to keep. After all, that’s why they were there in the first place. So, I put them back in, neat and orderly.

In addition to the fact that the drawer now closed, this process had opened my eyes to some things that needed to be done.

I found a blank piece of paper and made a list. 1. Call up old friends and see how life is treating them. 2. Mail birthday cards instead of sending e-greetings. 3. Print photos off my iPhone. 4. Buy a new couch.

I would start on this list, well, tomorrow. Now I had to decide where to put this very important piece of paper so as not to lose it.

Hmmm…What better place than this very drawer?

Because when you get right down to it, none of this stuff is junk. From now on I’m going to call it “My Life Drawer.” And I’m going to keep it well organized.

Or at least try.