Embracing Adulthood Means Letting Go of Your ’90s Treasures

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It was a sunny Sunday in March, with temperatures hovering around 60 degrees, when my partner, Lisa, and I decided it was high time to declutter our garage and patio. We were gearing up for our son’s 10th birthday bash, which was going to be a Nerf-themed extravaganza. While I wouldn’t have chosen that theme myself, it was inspired by a friend’s party a few months prior that our son couldn’t stop raving about. Nonetheless, it motivated us to tackle some much-needed spring cleaning.

Our garage had become a chaotic storage area, spilling over onto the patio. Living in a cozy house in Oregon that barely stretches to 1,000 square feet, with three kids and an abundance of belongings, we found ourselves in a bit of a jam. Despite relocating through three different states during our marriage, we hadn’t mastered the art of letting go. Instead, we simply moved boxes from one place to another without ever really sorting through them.

Now, I wouldn’t classify us as hoarders, but we haven’t quite parted ways with our beloved relics from the ’90s. Lisa unearthed a box filled with her old prom dresses and gasped with excitement as she held them up. There was a shimmering baby blue number with puffy shoulders, followed by a black dress adorned with rainbow sparkles. She fondly recalled the memories tied to each dress: the year she wore them, her date, and how special she felt at those moments.

I, on the other hand, didn’t have a similar prom experience. I was too much of a rebel back in high school. Just before we stumbled upon the prom dresses, we found my old Army jacket, a staple during my teenage years. It was adorned with safety-pinned patches from my favorite punk bands and bore a few stains, probably remnants from my teenage skin struggles.

Now in my mid-30s, I’m a parent with responsibilities and a career, and I certainly wouldn’t dare step outside in that jacket again. Yet, when I slipped it on, it fit just right, and for a fleeting moment, I felt that rush of defiance from my youth.

Over the years, I’ve repeated this ritual: rediscovering the jacket, wearing it for nostalgia, then tucking it back away. That’s why I’ve held on to my skateboards and old band tees for so long—not for their practical value, but for the rush of feeling free and invincible as I did in my youth. In reality, I was just a kid with long bleached hair and oversized JNCO jeans, desperately trying to carve out an identity.

As Lisa held up another dress, contemplating whether it still fit, there we were, two thirty-somethings trying to relive our twenties. It wasn’t 1998 anymore; it was 2017. If anyone had seen us in that garage, they might have thought we were stuck in a time warp, like someone who still sports a mullet and cranks up a classic rock track while cruising in an old car. It was clear we needed to move on from this decade that once made us feel invincible.

“We really should part with this stuff,” I said, looking around at the clutter. “We’ve been hauling it around forever, even stashing some at your parents’ place. It’s time to let go.”

Lisa hesitated, holding up a purple dress. “What if our daughter, Ava, wants it for prom someday?” she asked tentatively.

Trying to lighten the mood, I chuckled, “I doubt Ava will want to wear your old prom dresses. That’s like saying our son, Ethan, will wear my punk jacket on his first day of high school. Most of those bands don’t even exist anymore! We have to let it go.”

I could see the conflict in her eyes; she understood my point but wasn’t quite ready to part with her cherished memories. This is one of those unspoken aspects of adulthood. Sure, milestones like having kids, buying a house, or finishing school mark our journey, but so does embracing the practicalities of life—like wearing slacks and a polo for work or driving the minivan that feels less than cool. It’s about letting go of the quirky things that once defined us, like that CD collection or those prom dresses, and stepping into the role of a responsible adult.

In the end, my jacket, along with my snowboards and band tees, ended up in the donation box, as did several of Lisa’s dresses. She kept two for sentimental reasons, claiming our daughters might want to use them for dress-up, which was fine by me.

I drove to the nearby Goodwill donation trailer and watched as two volunteers unloaded our memories, casually tossing them into the trailer—just another donation. I’m not usually one to get sentimental, but it stung a little to see them go.

Yet, as a dad in my mid-30s, it felt rewarding to know that I was making space for a cleaner, more organized environment for my family.

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In summary, letting go of our past can be bittersweet, but it’s a necessary step in embracing adulthood. By decluttering, we create room for new memories and experiences as we navigate the challenges of parenting and life.