My closets don't spark joy, but I'm not quite ready to pitch the contents | Suzy Leonard

My closets frighten me.

They’re like giant Jenga puzzles carefully arranged and stacked and ready to topple at any second.

Three years ago, my husband and I did the opposite of what many couples our age are doing; we upsized. Working from home during the pandemic brought to light something we’d never realized before. We needed His and Hers offices.

We love the new house. It has plenty of room for us to work, sleep and entertain, plus enough yard for the poodles to run laps.

But what we gained in living space, we lost in closet space. This house obviously was designed by a man who never put away his own laundry.

During the move, we donated truckloads to non-profit thrift shops, filled and refilled the trash can and stuffed everything else into every available closet nook and cranny, creating those terrifying towers of stuff.

But it’s not just the potential of falling boxes that scares me.

I’m afraid of what those closets contain.

Each one is a time capsule of hopes, dreams and failures, some too personal to confront.

Jeans that are three sizes too small.

More: A bicycle ride, the wind in your face: It's the real wheel deal | Suzy Leonard

A trumpet badly in need of cleaning and valve oil and tattered sheet music for “Lady,” a solo I played at homecoming halftime senior year.

Golf clubs I haven’t swung since 2017.

Moony letters from teen romances.

Awkward childhood snapshots.

Christmas decorations.

My high school band letter jacket.

Stacks of used gift bags and crinkled tissue paper.

My mother’s cake-decorating supplies, because I might need to make a 16-inch round cake, or one shaped like a baby grand piano.

The red velvet floor-length cape I wore when I dressed as Big Red Riding Hood for Halloween.

A box that has remained unopened since I moved from my tiny apartment in Auburn 38 years ago.

More: My mother once said she was 'just a housewife.' She was so much more | Suzy Leonard

I get the whole “toss anything that doesn’t spark joy” concept, but how am I supposed to throw away my grandmother’s college yearbooks from the 1920s?

We have good friends who recently made the decision to move into a retirement community. They’ve spent the past several weeks packing up all the things they’ve gathered over their lifetimes, separately and together. The new place has everything they need — a beautiful condo, restaurants, workout facilities, friends in the neighborhood — except closet space.

That’s intentional, they said. It’s time to get rid of everything except the necessities. They’re keeping comfy furniture, favorite works of art and small appliances they use often. Other things are being parsed out to their adult children, friends and thrift shops.

It’s the smart thing to do, something their children will come to appreciate, even if they don’t now.

Their mission to downsize reminded me that tackling the closets was supposed to be one of my retirement projects.

Why, after all, do two people need enough things to fill both walk-in closets in the primary bedroom, as well as all the space in two office closets and the one in the guest room?

It’s a daunting task, one I’m not quite ready to take on.

Eventually I’ll be ready to face my fears. I hope.

When that time comes, I’ll let y’all know.

Someone will need to be on standby in case I get trapped in an avalanche of random stuff.

Suzy Fleming Leonard spent more than four decades as a journalist before retiring from FLORIDA TODAY in February 2024.

This article originally appeared on Florida Today: Ah, the memories I can pull from my Jenga-like closet | Suzy Leonard