At the beginning of the month, I got this strange impulse to go through some of my file cabinets and get rid of pounds of paper.

I don’t know exactly where this idea came from, although in hindsight, it makes sense.

During the last few weeks of a year, work tends to be lighter and I’ll often have more time to attend to tasks that don’t seem to be urgent. In December, I’ll usually want to organize my accounting systems a bit and prepare files and folders for next year.

But the urge to review and purge was stronger this year. I didn’t want to simply send papers to basement storage.  I really wanted to get them out of my life.

I distinctly felt drawn to shred documents.  I seemed to be ready to make a commitment to make space in my life for new things and for making decisions based on evaluating information that is current and important to who I am now.

• Expense reports and work-related receipts from 2008
• Credit card statements for my gas card.
• Decade old lab results for tests (I’m sure the lab has these records if I need them)
• Print-outs of research I did to plan vacation itineraries (If I choose a new destination this spring, I would need to do fresh research to see what kinds of attractions or lodging I’d want to book NOW).
• BlackRock, Magellan and other investment prospectuses. (I probably didn’t read the booklets when they were first sent to me. Why keep them now?)

I shredded all these things.

Only capable of chewing ten pages at a time, I tore out staples and tried to feed the sheets of paper in my machine’s mouth slowly and carefully.

I listened to the sound of the motor humming and contemplated the mechanical activity within the slate gray box on casters. I withdrew the drawer frequently and emptied the strips of paper into large garbage bags.

My guest bedroom, where I conducted this operation, became full of paper dust.

Over three days I spent hours leaning over the machine and combing through folders. I think I filled four giant garbage bags.

I thought about the word “shredding.”  It seemed to capture the feeling of being torn apart  in a way that makes it impossible to put back together in is original form.

I could think of past relationships or jobs that left me feeling shredded.

But I really loved the idea of shredding old papers now.

It was not just about throwing something away. It seemed to be more permanent.

Shredding meant shedding.

Putting old papers through the shredder felt like a declaration of releasing things I no longer needed, things I couldn’t come back to, and the choice to let go was a conscious one.

Instead of keeping something on the very slight chance that I’d possibly want it later and being afraid of regretting a decision, I wanted to think about how releasing things would support me in being the person I’m becoming.

I understood that by shredding papers, I not only wanted to make space in my life for new things, symbolically, I wanted to make it impossible to return to old ways of being.

I am more than what my what ancient pay stubs, health records, or correspondence says about me.  I don’t want to throw away my past, but I don’t want past habits or tendencies to dictate the choices I make.

I know I can value relationships that have endured and supported me through the years and still re-shape them to be more reflective of who I am today, what I want and the higher level of value I place on my own needs and desires.

Shedding papers or beliefs that no longer serve you is no small thing.