Hats, Goodbyes and Letting Go

“What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others.”
Pericles

About 2 years ago, when I first started working at the Flynn, I got a strange phone call. At that time, I was still moderately terrified of answering my phone. It rang constantly and I rarely knew how to answer the myriad of questions thrown at me.

I was still trying to understand the intricacies of the Flynn (and two years later, I almost get them!). The caller was an older woman who wanted to drop off some items for us to use in our theater classes.

As usual, I was not sure how to handle this. Not sure who I needed to clear this with and if we even accepted donations of old clothing. She told me that her husband had died years ago. She had kept his treasured military hats safe and sound all that time. She was finally ready to give them away so other people could make us of them.


She sounded unsure of herself. Most likely a part of her wanted to keep these hats a little bit longer. They must have meant so much to him. And for her, they must have been like a piece of him, the last piece she had left.

After all, they sat on his head day after day, they probably still smelled of his shampoo. It must have been so awful for her to part with them. But maybe it was a necessary part of moving on.

“The key to change... is to let go of fear.”
Rosanne Cash

I have always had problems with moving on. I used to squeeze my stuffed animals so hard at night that their stuffing would fall out too soon. I had literally loved them TO DEATH. But I wouldn't let my mother throw my beloved animals in the trash. Oh no!

They meant something to me! I insisted we save them forever and ever for sentimental reasons. There is probably a big bag of love-worn stuffed animals rotting away in the attic at this very moment.

A week or so after our phone call, the lady dropped off two boxes of her deceased husband's possessions. Her daughter waited in the car and I ran down to take them from her. I thanked her profusely and made sure she was ready to part with them. She lingered for a moment and then said that it was the right thing to do.

I wonder if she got home that night and regretted it instantly? If she wanted to snatch back her husband's precious belongings to hold closely until the day she joined him? Or if somehow she felt lighter, as though a great weight had been lifted? Perhaps she was finally released from some sad state of purgatory caused by years of loss and suffering?


I took the boxes up to my office and proceeded to forget about them. I had many boxes littering my floor and they fit in fine amidst the mess. I never bothered to bring them up to the studio closets so the kids could enjoy them. It was part laziness and part selfishness that kept those boxes in my office over the next two years.

A part of me didn't want those careless kids to go ripping through her husband's prized possessions, unaware of their history or origin: heedlessly pulling out his white dress gloves with nary a scratch and instantly covering them in dirt; tossing his immaculate gold-braided hats around the room and denting their perfect shapes; roughly twisting the suspenders and plaid cumberbun that he once held so dear; instantly sullying his brighter than white Navy cap.

I didn't know what to do with this dead man's things. Part of me wanted to put them on display in a museum somewhere. They were so pristine and perfect, they needed to be admired and worshipped. He needed to be remembered! There had to be some way to hold on to him through these items that once mattered so much to him?

“For everything you have missed, you have gained something else, and for everything you gain, you lose something else.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Why do I hold on to things so tightly? It probably has something to do with the fact that I have never belonged anywhere. Never had a real "home" in the traditional sense of the word.

We left my childhood home when I was 3 years old and never alighted anyplace solid again. Like a family of hummingbirds, we flitted from haven to haven, never stopping long.

In 33 years I have moved almost 20 times; lived in 20 different homes, apartments, dorm rooms and hovels; carried my crap around from place to place and state to state like a hobo with a stick.

You would think that I would be really good at traveling light by now. Perhaps my tendency to hold on to things too tightly is some sort of an adverse reaction to this nomad lifestyle. It is like that scene in The Jerk where Steve Martin is being kicked out of his mansion:

Navin R. Johnson: Well I'm gonna to go then. And I don't need any of this. I don't need this stuff, and I don't need you. I don't need anything except this. [picks up an ashtray]

Navin R. Johnson: And that's it and that's the only thing I need, is this. I don't need this or this. Just this ashtray. And this paddle game, the ashtray and the paddle game and that's all I need. And this remote control. The ashtray, the paddle game, and the remote control, and that's all I need. And these matches. The ashtray, and these matches, and the remote control and the paddle ball. And this lamp. The ashtray, this paddle game and the remote control and the lamp and that's all I need. And that's all I need too. I don't need one other thing, not one - I need this. The paddle game, and the chair, and the remote control, and the matches, for sure. And this. And that's all I need. The ashtray, the remote control, the paddle game, this magazine and the chair. [walking outside]

Navin R. Johnson: And I don't need one other thing, except my dog. [dog barks]

Navin R. Johnson: I don't need my dog.


Years later, Suzanne and I were switching offices in preparation for my departure from the Flynn. Once again, I had to face this man's boxes and decide what to do with them.

Suzanne advised me to take them home and use them in my shows. I longed to kidnap them and hang the hats on my bedroom walls. Create a shrine for this dead man that I never met. His hats were so perfect, so artful, and they held so much meaning.

Lately I have been trying to force myself to let go of things. Leaving the Flynn, releasing ghosts and moving forward instead of back. As nice as it is to wallow in sweet memories and drain them of every last bit of their tasty nectar, this activity soon grows stale. And in letting go of the past and the parts of it that I have been clinging too tightly to, I feel a great weight lifting off my shoulders.

“Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.”
Dr. Seuss

In this spirit, I am finally going to release this man's possessions to the kids. At long last, I'll honor his widow's wishes (I know, I know, what took me so long!?).

This summer the rambunctious children will no doubt rip through them and bend, dirty and crumple his perfect hats, gloves, suspenders and cumberbun.

But I think the old lady knew then what it took me 2 years to realize, you can't hold on to someone too tightly. You have to let go of them and accept that they are gone.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
and things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art; to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Tomorrow is my last day of work at the Flynn and as of Friday I am OFFICIALLY an unemployed deadbeat! It will take a while for this BIG life change to seem real to me.

Between classes, rehearsals, creative meetings, vlogs, blogs, matinees, editing and script readings, I have a ton to do next week. I am guessing it will take a while for the full force of this shift from full-time worker bee to student bee to take effect.

Too many people are thinking of security instead of opportunity. They seem to be more afraid of life than death.
James F. Bymes

But in the meantime, I am looking forward to my goodbye party tomorrow night when I can take the time to relax, unwind and get liquored up with a grand group of people that have become like a family to me over the past two years.

Someone asked me today if I was sad to go. I am sad. So sad. But it is time to stop holding on so tightly. It is time to put on my fancy military hat one last time and then prepare to release my grip...

“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity.”
Gilda Radner

Leaving the Nest

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy;
for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves;
we must die to one life before we can enter another.
Anatole France

Today was moving day at the ol'Offasty. So it was with XMas party hang overs that Suzanne and I began to trade offices. I tend to fill up every space I inhabit, packing it to the brim with knick knacks, pictures, doo dads and bits-n-pieces o' junk.

Suzanne keeps a tidy office with everything in its place and clean surfaces a plenty. We knew the move was going to be tough but oh my, so much crap to sort through!

He who rejects change is the architect of decay. The only human institution which rejects progress is the cemetery.
Harold Wilson

Moving day has never been much fun for me. Being a sentimental old sop who carries around too much junk, I get wrapped up in the emotional meaning of the move and find it impossible to break apart a space that once held so much meaning for me.

Example: "Oh, this plastic toy cat, I remember when Kelly put this thingamagig on top of my birthday cake that one time, sigh, oh the memories!"

And just what on earth am I supposed to do with this cat now? Throw it away? NO! Too wasteful, I could need it someday?! So I put it in a box and put off trying to find a place for it until later, when it ends up under my bed.

The man who looks for security, even in the mind, is like a man who would chop off his limbs in order to have artificial ones which will give him no pain or trouble.
Henry Miller

I am not even sure how it is that I manage to accumulate so much crap. I think it is one of those things where lots of crap begets MORE crap! I am just one of those junk-loving ladies that people give things to.

Example: "That pretty hat in my attic that I don't know what to do with ...the one with the floppy brim, I think I'll give it to Eva! She'll find something creative to do with it!"

If you're in a bad situation, don't worry it'll change. If you're in a good situation, don't worry it'll change.
John A. Simone, Sr.

This is not in ANY way to diss junk and the people who give it to me. I love ALL my junk! So much so that I clutter up every single space I occupy with more junk. There are dried orchids from a year ago (sentimental value), a Starbucks lollipop that Abbie gave me when I was sad once, postcards from all over the world, ancient Valentines, drawings by kids, Barbie legs, a fur wrap, a body leotard with a tiger tail, and piles of paper clips.

They must often change, who would be constant in happiness or wisdom. Confucius

Once Andrea looked around my office and said smugly, "You're a nester, aren't you?" So true. Every nest I move in to gets decorated with the bright shiny objects that strike my fancy.

And that makes moving so much harder. Because the bright shiny objects take on a life of their own. The person who gave it to you becomes somehow connected to the stuff and it is hard to throw the person/old sticky note in the trash.

It is never too late to become what you might have been.
George Eliot

Big emotional moves like this remind me of the other painful moves in my life. It doesn't help that my small family has been moving almost yearly for as far back as I can remember. We left Cherry Valley when I was 3 yrs old for Manhattan. Left the Big Apple for Vermont when I was 7 yrs old. And moved from apartment to apartment in both the city and the country. Flying from nest to nest like a frenetic family of hummingbirds.

Some of my earliest memories are packing up my things into boxes. Throwing things out and agonizing over what could come to my new home (nest). I envy people who grew up in one home. I can't even begin to imagine what this would be like. Would I be less of a junk collector if my childhood had been more stable?

“The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live.” Flora Whittemore

One of my hardest moves was leaving Indiana when I was 16 yrs old. I was moving to Massachusetts to go to college and I had a gaggle of close friends that I was loathe to leave. After all my bits of junk were packed away and shipped, my friends came with me to the airport. It was so hard to say goodbye to them that I cried and cried on the plane, like a little baby.

It is almost as though I knew deep down that, as time went on, I would lose touch with my friends and we would replace each other with new faces and new rooms full of junk. And the sad thing is, we did. I couldn't tell you what those people are doing today. But I still have notes they wrote me because I don't have the guts to throw these artifacts away.

“The key to change... is to let go of fear.” Rosanne Cash

Worse still was graduating and leaving college four years later. The sucky thing about college is that you have to set up your room every year and then break it all down and move it back home again. Talk about massive pain for someone like me who hates to move (even though I should be really damn good at it by now).

But the final move was more painful than I thought possible. I was 19 yrs old when I graduated and I had come of age around these people and places. The last months had been insanely busy with finishing my dissertation, exams, and tying up loose ends. Then came graduation and parties and plans and a date book packed full of shit.

After the whirlwind passed by, I still had to pull an all nighter to frantically pack up my room full o' junk while my freshmen boy toy lay asleep in bed.

The weight of this change finally sunk in and I felt terrified and alone. But excited too, not sure what this change would bring and how the hell I was going to fit all this crap into my mothers car.

I moved to California months later and embarked on a strange and interesting second act. Who knew that 10 years later I would be back in Vermont and mourning a big move out of the Flynn.

“We change, whether we like it or not” Ralph Waldo Emerson

Leaving my killer window office with a view of Main St was painful to say the least. But watching Suzanne re-organize the space to fit her better (less junk, more open space, good changes!) was exciting too. And as I get ready for the final move which comes in early January, I am glad I did the hard part and moved the junk.

After all, it isn't the view and the office brimming with junk that I will miss, it is the smiling face of Suzanne peering around my office door every morning and asking me how I am doing. And these memories will stick with me longer than all the piles of junk which will not fit into my junk-filled (nest) home.

“What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others.” Pericles