Finally! Today I finally opened some dusty boxes, which had been sealed since I arrived here from Georgia, and filled up three huge garbage bags of clothes, shoes, and bags that are the remnants of my old life. At least the boring parts. I laughed at the memory of myself clad in those prim twinsets from Brooks Brothers and Banana Republic, “dressy chinos” from J. Crew, sensible shoes from 9 West, and Kenneth Cole handbags. In those days, my hair was cropped into a no-fuss pixie, I wore tasteful pearls, shopped at Lands’ End, and generally looked like the oldest 27-year-old in the world. My 19-year-old self would have joined with the 33-year-old I am today and laughed at that dull, frumpy girl until she cried. Not that I’m all that chic and edgy now, but I felt good as I surveyed my newly pruned closet–it’s fun without being so youthful that I look like I’m kidding myself, with a good mix of classic and stylish. And I did retain a few of my “better” office clothes (still untouched since I moved here), just in case I find myself interviewing for a job again, but they’re tucked way back into a dark corner where they belong.