There are versions of myself hidden everywhere: in the back of closets, in drawers, in storage bins I’ve never unpacked because some part of me was unwilling to let go. I’ve kept old clothes that no longer feel like me (and certainly don’t feel good on), photos I should have deleted years ago, and gifts tied to people I’ve long since outgrown, held onto out of nostalgia mixed with a fair amount of guilt. 

Overall, I’ve always been someone willing to purge things that no longer suit me, and I’ve done it regularly over the years. But even now, there are still plenty of things sitting around that I know I no longer need and will never use. Things I’ve kept because they belonged to another chapter of my life. Another version of me.