I put this post forward as my first step of self-accountability, and as an inessential public statement that I resign my position as a bag lady.

It’s true. I’m a hoarder

Not your usual kind. Okay, maybe your usual kind. However, I’d like to think myself more of an eclectic hoarder – I like to diversify, since I always have this incessant fear that I’m going to miss out on something.

So what is it I collect exactly? Well… all kinds of things: beauty products, jeans, books, receipts, even emotions — especially emotions. I always hear how great it is to be mindful and to appreciate the moment, and I’ve always assumed I was practicing that. Little did I know that I had a completely muddled understanding of mindfulness and took into the habit of hoarding moments instead. I know, it sounds ridiculous. Imagine myself drinking a cup of coffee and having a good laugh with family and friends. Reasonably, one would be mindful and appreciate the moment for what it is – instead, I hurry, I hasten and almost scream at everyone to stop and stay as they are so I can save it before it slips away. Of course, I don’t do that literally.

However, I managed to collect an abundance of moments in my own exhausting exercise [of a misunderstood notion of mindfulness]. It appears that I sit within my sentiments, within moments that longed to be appreciated as they are and for what they are. Instead, I fret, I worry; I disrupt it just so that I can carry a figment of it with me.

And that’s not even the worst of it.

The thing about hoarding is that you start off by collecting only the valuable things. Then one day you wake up and find yourself surrounded by a plethora of used post its, a box of wilted flowers, and a drawer full of jeans that no longer fit. And so it happened that I’ve fallen into the habit of collecting all of my moments. I lost the ability to distinguish the good from bad – since I would focus only on their shared melancholic and transient nature.

I’ve been walking for a while now while I carry all of these moments with me. But it’s become unbearable. The weight has become too much to carry around and I’m beginning to hallucinate Erykah Badu cautioning me as she sings Bag Lady. I can’t uphold this any longer.

I tend to my resignation. I quit. I resign. I’m out.