Scanning Old Photos — Mood and Clothes

I’ve been working on a little (or not so little) clutter-clearing project. I’ve been scanning all my photos onto a hard drive and backing them up in the cloud. The idea was that I’d be able to get rid of a full photo box (about the size of a shoebox) of old photos. I’d looked into having it done professionally, and it was more expensive than buying this fancy scanner and doing it myself, plus I can pass it on to my mom when I’m done. At some point when I was apparently feeling ambitious, I did organize the photos into categories, so that part was done. But the scanning itself became a source of procrastination. I wanted it to be done already; I didn’t want to actually have to do it. Going through all those memories of high school musicals and failed relationships sounded like an absolute nightmare to me. But I finally bit the bullet and did it. It took about a week of feeding the photos into the scanner, then lying on the couch while the computer processed and saved them. Towards the end, the pile seemed to almost feel “sticky,” like it was harder and harder to get through them. Categories were too small; I didn’t know what to name them. Proof sheets of old headshots had faded to near-black. I decided I would just keep putting things in the scanner, even if the categories weren’t perfect or the quality wasn’t so great. I finished, and then I didn’t know what to do. I’d planned on dumping the lot into the recycling bin and that would be that. But my husband pointed out that photos can’t be recycled, and he reminded me that I’ve had regrets in the past when I’ve decluttered a bit too aggressively. Most minimalists will say that they don’t miss a thing they’ve gotten rid of, but I do. Mementos, clothes, books. There are things I wish I had back. I will repurchase books on occasion, but I can never get back those dog-eared Judy Blume books from childhood. And so I paused. For several days.

And then I started the decluttering. I threw out (right in the trash) photos of old boyfriends, blurry backstage shots, and prom photos of people whose names I can’t remember. I threw out about half of the box. And then it started to get tricky. These photos were taken on film and developed in real time; the object of the photo itself is of a certain time. I thought about what sparked joy, Marie Kondo-style. Three high school musicals stayed. A pile of hilarious black and white shots of me and my best friend from college made the cut. And then a stack of miscellaneous photos of close high school friends, of my family over the years, of my grandmother in her youth. I passed on most of the childhood photos to my mom so she can keep them in context when she does her scanning. And I let the rest go. It felt really good, but I still yearned for the release of dumping the lot. I also worried that I hadn’t adhered to any specific rules or methods when it came to what to keep. It’s the inconsistency of decluttering mementos that I find so difficult. Do I keep every prom photo or only some? Do I keep just one shot from every show I’ve done, or more for some shows? I made some arbitrary decisions, trying to keep the Konmari “joy-check” in mind, and I think I’m at peace with what I’m left with.

I recycled the falling-apart photo box and headed to The Container Store for something to store the keepers in. After wandering around the entire store with my mom, looking at archival boxes and sleeves and fancy plastic folders, I ended up at the very front of the store with one of their clear plastic shoe boxes. Since it’s clear, I can see what’s in it, and it fit all the odd-sized photos that wouldn’t have fit in the archival sleeves. I put old, soft nylon hair elastics around each stack, and filed them in the little plastic box. There’s plenty of room for it in my keepsake drawer, and since they’re easy to see, I might actually flip through them from time to time. I have a feeling I’ll be more likely to flip through the scanned photos instead, but for now, it’s nice to have some originals. This is actually the completion of a larger project of digitizing all my archives- all those scores and DVDs of every show I’ve ever done, all those notes from voice lessons, all that sheet music from auditions. Everything is now scanned in and on a tiny little hard drive, about 2 inches by 3 inches. So much of my life. I wonder if I will look at it all again. And I guess it doesn’t really matter. It’s helped me let go of all that by clearing it out, and it’s only by scanning it that I was able to let it go. I feel like now I should have some sense of renewal, like I have a whole new life now. And I guess in some ways I do; I don’t spend hours a day practicing anymore, and I never have to put myself through the horrors of auditioning again. Writing is new for me. We’ll see what comes next.