Tonight I am cleaning my room in my tiny one room apartment and I have made three piles; Dirty and keep, get rid of, and clean and keep. So far my dirty and keep pile is overpowering them all. Not just the scent but size too. I wear probably 5 percent of clothes I own. And I know for a fact I am not alone. I'm just going to guess here and say 140 percent of people do not wear all of the clothes they own. But hey, I could be wrong. Anyway, I just finished sorting and couldn't think of anything to write my article on, then this story blossomed.

I looked at my keep and clean, and keep and dirty piles and decided, there are people in this world, in my own town, as close as down the street who have barely any clothes at all and here I am, sitting in front of three towering piles. I began to feel very, very guilty. What am I even keeping these clothes for? They only frustrate me because they take up space. Why, when I go to throw them out, do I feel so attached to something that I never even give any attention to? As I start to get angry with myself for not donating sooner I think I've figured it out.

The oldest piece of clothing I own, (that I still wear) is a tee-shirt from the summer before 6th grade when I went to my first concert. Guess who? Jonas Brothers. I mean come on, as long as Nick is still rocking it, I can rock my size youth large, because I was chubby, "Burning Up Tour" tee shirt. Here's why I just can't throw it out. There is something that, when I touch it, its softness brings back a specific memory. Standing in the grandstand next to my dad, stepmom and little sister. Holding my tiny pink camera, the first digital one I had. And just being plain mesmerized by the whole experience. Concerts are the best thing ever. Because that one shirt gives me those feelings, I started to look at each piece of clothing I was keeping that I don't even wear and I actually had a specific memory to each one that up until now I had forgotten. Like the long dress that my mom told me I HAD to get because it looked gorgeous. The sweatshirt that I don't wear because my ex gave it to me and he repulses me. (I didn't say these were good memories). Or, the big flannel I stole from my brother-in-law's closet the day of my sisters wedding. There are so many.

It was nice to remember, but in all honesty, it felt better to let go and put them away in bags to donate. It felt good to know that my clothes, my forgotten memories, can now be someones new ones. There is nothing better than creating new memories and if I can help be the start of a new one for someone, then that is a greater feeling than any I have ever gotten from a tee-shirt.